


In Medias Res

by pourpl



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Angst, But They Don’t Know?, Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, I Tried, M/M, Mutual Pining, Olympics AU, Rivals, Self-Indulgent, Stargazing, anxiety mention, head to head, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pourpl/pseuds/pourpl
Summary: “Kogane!” He called out when he was a foot away.“I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced.” Lance extended a hand once he reached him, cracking a toothy smile. “I’m Lance. Mcclain.”Kogane gave him a once-over, stopping at the hand resting idly between them, and then turned back to his granola. “I know who you are."An unlikely friendship forms between two polarized Olympians competing for the same medal.





	1. Ab Hinc

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'allmst!  
> so i watched the olympics a lot this year, and i saw the red and blue flags on the slalom and was like oh, klance au???  
> this fic is entirely self-indulgent.  
> i tried to write it quickly and try to work on Not scrutinizing every word i write, but of course it ended up taking longer than i thought it would.  
> i wanted to get this out before the olympics were over, but life got in the way, of course.  
> I hope you enjoy! it's cliche and dumb!  
> let me know what u think and leaf some kudos !  
> these chapters will be short and there will be a Lot
> 
>  
> 
> ps. i know this isn't accurate so im sorry if anyone out there does slalom and hates my description of it or the olympics lmao

Lance slid into the finish, turning so his skis slowed him to a stop, pushing a cloud of snow up in front of him to block his view. 

 

It dissipated into the crisp wind to reveal his coach, beaming at Lance and quick to pull him into an embrace before he could even begin to catch his breath. 

 

“What a  _ run _ !” He cheered into Lance’s shoulder, hitting his back in a congratulatory but overly-forceful manner. 

 

“Okay, okay, Hunk, not to hard.” Lance chuckled, detaching himself to lift up his goggles, shifting his fogged up, red toned vision and exposing his watery eyes to the elements. 

 

“Oh man, you’re gonna kill it!” Hunk said, grabbing Lance’s shoulders and shaking them in complete dismission. “I’m so proud of you, Lance.” 

 

Lance grinned and clipped out of his skis, handing them to an Olympic official along with his poles, goggles, and helmet. He felt sort of bare without them, wishing he could have brought his own gear. Technically, he could have used it while practicing, but Hunk advised against it. He had to get used to the regulated stuff. 

 

“Thank you!” He called out to the official, suddenly remembering the manners his mother told him to never lose, even now that he was a big shot athlete. The worker ignored him.

 

“That’s what I love about you, buddy. Always a gentleman.” Hunk smiled, clapping Lance on the shoulder and leading him into the lodge. 

 

“Lance!” A voice called out, and he turned to find an enthusiastic Pidge, running to wrap her arms around him. 

 

“You’re awfully affectionate.” 

 

She moved back and coughed as if it was a mistaken err of the body. “I think that was your best run yet.” 

 

“Thanks, Katie.” Lance beamed, ruffling her hair as they all made their way near the fire. She groaned at the name and the disturbance of her short hair.

 

“You’re going to have to get used to people calling you that. That’s your official Olympic name.” Lance pointed out.

 

“It’s so dumb how they have to use your birth name. They better drop that when I get on the tracks.” She slumped into the couch they found themselves on. 

 

“Speaking of,” Hunk spoke up. “Have you been practicing?” 

 

“ _No, no no._ ” She protested, raising a finger. “Lance may have wanted his best friend to be his coach, but there’s a reason I don’t take advice from other teenagers.” 

 

“I’m 23, Pidge!” Hunk protested. 

 

“And you still sleep with a stuffed lion!” She teased passionately. Lance rolled his eyes. He simultaneously hated and loved being in the midst of their banter. It was comforting 6,000 miles from home, but also painfully annoying. “Besides, what do you know about skeleton?” 

 

“Enough to know you should be practicing before the races when you get the chance.” Hunk dropped his voice. “I know you’re a prodigy and all, but this is the Olympics. Look around you.  _ Everyone’s _ a prodigy.”

 

“But are they ‘ _ The _ Prodigy’?” Lance raised an eyebrow at Hunk, noting the nickname Pidge was given for being the youngest and shortest skeleton racer in the Olympics,  _ ever _ . And also one of the best. 

 

“Speaking of prodigies.” Hunk said back, eyes fixed on the television screen above the fire. Lance followed his gaze. It displayed the other skiers practices, a sly but calculated way seek out the competition before your racing day. 

 

Of course, Olympians studied the competition for months before the date, researching techniques and taking notes on trials that got them in. But there was nothing like watching someone there, a week before facing them, running the same slope you did minutes before. This was how to find their impediments. This was how to win. 

 

And as much as Pidge and Lance joked around, boy did they like to win. 

 

Up on the screen now was Keith Kogane, a Japanese slalomist with a composed disposition and impeccable speed. 

 

Lance’s biggest, and only threat. 

 

His eyes narrowed. 

 

“He’s incredible.” Pidge whispered after a collective moment of breathless silence, watching as Keith broke through the gates and took off effortlessly. 

 

“He’s too fast.” Lance mumbled. 

 

“But you have better balance.” Hunk pointed out.

 

“But he has more dexterity.” 

 

“But he’s irrational.” Hunk said resolutely. Lance gave him a look. “I hear he blows up easily. Terrible temper. You have the humility, and the patience that he lacks.” 

 

Lance softened, but still felt full of dubiety. He crossed his arms and studied Kogane, watching closely as he weaved in and out of the gates like butter, not a hindrance to his velocity. 

 

“Look.” Hunk said assuredly. “Watch where he turns. Look at the bottom off his left ski. He waits too long, and picks up too much snow. One wrong move will send him spiraling out of control. He needs to work on his timing. He’s too ambitious.” 

 

“I say it’s pretty even,” Pidge piped, picking her feet up to rest on the coffee table. “You and him, I mean.” 

 

“He’s always one-upping me though.” Lance huffed, immediately feeling taut and constricted in his performance vest. 

 

“But you’re on his tail. He’s not unbeatable. Why do you think everybody always talks about you being neck-and-neck? What he lacks—you make up for. And that’s why it’s gonna be close.” 

 

Lance and Hunk blinked at her. 

 

“What?” Pidge said defensively, studying their expressions before letting out a huff. “Slalom may not be my favorite, but I pay attention.” 

 

Keith skidded to a finish, almost entirely matching the time that Lance had gotten ten minutes before. He couldn’t even conjure the difference in numbers. 

 

Lance opened his mouth to ask Hunk what it was, but was interrupted by a blanket being draped over his shoulders and a hat to his head. “I am so sorry, Sir. I meant to bring you these earlier but I—“ 

 

Lance turned to catch the eyes of a girl about his age, wearing a PyeongChang 2018 Staff sweatshirt. Yellow hair draped across her pale skin and she sped through her words, clearly very apologetic. 

 

“It’s fine.” Lance assured, snuggling into the warm blanket and pulling the hat over his head. “Thank you.” 

 

She exhaled roughly, closing her eyes and looking heinously grateful. “Anything else you might need, sir?” 

 

Lance smiled politely. “No, I am good. Thanks.” 

 

She nodded and folded her hands together with a furrowed brow pivoting away before stopping in her tracks and looking over her shoulder at Lance. “Good luck on your run on Tuesday.” 

 

Lance smiled again, unsure of what to say and regretting his inability to give serious responses to flattery before she ran off.

 

“Looks like you’ve got a fan.” Hunk nudged, flashing a suggestive look. “You should get her name.” 

 

“Oh, please.” Lance scoffed, leaning back. “I’m not here for romance. I’m here to compete.” 

 

“Who are you,” Pidge said incredulously. “And what have you done with Lance?”


	2. Bonum Commune Hominis

_ “Next tuesday is the first Giant Slalom race of the Olympics, and everyone will be watching.” _

 

Hunk and Lance sat on their beds in their room, stuffing popcorn in their faces and turning on NBCs Olympic coverage, blue light illuminating through the dark room. The twinkle of the lights lining the slopes was the only thing visible outside the windows, and looking at them felt menacing, but also warm, Lance decided.

 

“ _Yes, Coran,_ ” Allura, the other newscaster beamed, shuffling papers in her hands. “ _The first of three races that determine the gold, and it is clear who’s at the top._ ” 

 

_ “Ah, yes!”  _ Coran said knowingly in his New Zealand accent, and Lance’s smiling head popped up beside Keith Kogane’s. Lance’s breath caught in his throat, still not used to seeing himself on the news. Hunk gave him a thumbs up.  _ “Mcclain and Kogane, American and Japanese, the two best slalomists in the world.”  _

 

_ “These boys are incredible.”  _ Allura said assuredly, and Coran nodded in agreement.  _ “Both only 22 years old and surpassing every other slalomist by a mile. No one can catch up to them.”  _

 

_ “Except each other, of course. _ ” Coran added, and the screen flashed to a slow motion montage of the two boys, side by side, footage from Olympic trials. 

 

_ “And that’s exactly what they keep doing.” _ Allura said over the footage, and Lance watched Kogane’s swift movements meticulously, gritting his teeth.  _ “Their scores always seem to match down to the millisecond, each making up where the other is deficient in skills. And although Mcclain is the underdog, he has the patience that Kogane lacks.”  _

 

“What did I  _ tell _ you!” Hunk boasted, reaching over the gap in their beds to give Lance a playful slap. 

 

The screen shifted to a clip of only Lance’s trial, speeding down the mountain and swerving in and out of gates at a speed and precision that secured him an Olympic spot way before anyone else with no comparable margin. Lance’s eyes glistened at the image, sometimes not being able to recognize himself when he sees those kinds of clips. He looks so serious and focused and...fake. The kid he sees up there is not really Lance, but a version of him that represents everything he’s proud of, and in a way, everything he’s not. 

 

_ “Mcclain has the youngest coach in the Olympics this year, 23 year old Hunk Garrett, who is also Mcclain’s best friend.” _ Allura continued and now it was Lance’s turn to lean over and hit Hunk, whose mouth was gaping at the screen. 

 

“That’s you!” 

 

“That’s me!” 

 

_ “You will never see something like this folks, and maybe that’s what makes everyone so interested in this years Men’s Giant Slalom. It will truly be the event to watch, and the question is, who will come out on top?”  _

 

And that was Lance’s que to grab the remote and switch off the TV, stomach churning and head spinning. These were things he already knew, things he’s heard a thousand times, things that were always brought up when people mentioned Lance. There was no other rivalry, no other head-to-head match like Mcclain and Kogane. Ever since the trials, that’s all he was hearing about. Just when Lance got cocky and thought there was no one who could compare to his skills, Kogane popped out of nowhere and became the biggest threat. 

 

But somehow hearing it, the week before their first run, on the 2018 PyeongChang NBC Olympic channel, sitting in their fancy hotel room, just minutes away from the slopes, it hit Lance hard, and suddenly he needed to just, stop. 

 

“You okay, buddy?” Hunk said, voice full of concern. 

 

“Yeah.” Lance whispered, voice coming out significantly less convincing than he meant it to you. “Yeah.” 

 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting scared, Mcclain.” Hunk teased, hopping over from his bed to sit with Lance on his. Lance sat up, giving Hunk a burdened look.

 

“I’m not scared. I just--” He cut himself off, sighing. “How did we get here?” 

 

“All expenses paid airfare.” Hunk responded, feigning ignorance. “It was a 13 hour flight, I can’t _believe_ you don’t remem--” 

 

“No, idiot, I mean how did we  _ get _ here.” Lance said romantically, looking out at the glimmer of the lights and the absence of light, marked by twinkling stars in a city with zero light pollution. “One second, you, me, and Pidge are laying on my roof in buttfuck Colorado at 10 years old, dreaming about making it to _states_.” 

 

Hunk let out a snicker, moving to situate himself parallel to Lance. 

 

“And now suddenly we’re here. Pidge has a race tomorrow. I’m the best slalomist in America, possibly the world. What happened?” 

 

Hunk met Lance’s eyes and furrowed his brow. “Woah buddy, don’t tell me you think this is a bad thing?” 

 

“No, no.” Lance dismissed with a wave of his hand. “It’s all just happening really fast.” 

 

“Hey.” Hunk said, forcing Lance to look at him with a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be amazing. You deserve this. You’ve been waiting your whole life for this.” 

 

Lance let his shoulders relax, feeling his expression crack into a smile. Hunk always knew exactly what to say. “I just wish my Mom were here, you know.” 

 

Hunk nodded, resting his head back on Lance’s pillow. “You know she couldn’t come. Your  _ Cheaper By The Dozen _ house would fall apart without your mother.” 

 

“I know, I know.” Lance acknowledged, feeling his heart rate return to normal and the tension melt away, even if only for a moment.

 

“And besides, no one’s here to stop us from staying up all night, ordering room service, binging on junk food, and maybe even some  _ alcohol _ .” Hunk whispered like a five year old which sent Lance giggling like a maniac. 

 

“Let me get the menu.” 

 

They ended up ordering two plates of brownies and 48oz of hot chocolate before passing out at 10:30. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be up tomorrow :)


	3. Carpe Diem

Lance’s eyes fluttered at the rich scent of charred bacon and scrambled eggs, wedged in with a dash of citrus that Lance identified immediately as orange juice. He had a great sense of smell.

 

His body perked into erection, always a quick riser and always looking dashing. He quite literally woke up like this every morning, springing into life with energy seconds after he drifted out of rapid eye movement. 

 

“Good, you’re up just in time.” Hunk smiled, bouncing on to the bed next to him and grabbing a piece of bacon, stuffing it in his mouth. “Food just got here.” 

 

“Oh, man.” Lance said indulgently, rubbing his hands at the feast before him. “This is the  _ life _ , right here.”

 

“I dimt evem ass forit!” Hunk exclaimed through a mouthful of pork before swallowing thickly. “They said it was complementary for every coach, every morning. Straight to your door!” 

 

“So this isn’t for me then?” Lance blinked. 

 

“Of course you can have some. This tray could feed a family of twelve.”

 

That was all Lance needed to hear before grabbing a glass of orange juice and downing it, reasonably dehydrated after sleeping for…. 

 

“What time is it?” Lance asked, wiping a mustache off his chin. 

 

“7:23.” Hunk checked his phone. “Not too bad.” 

 

“What’s the schedule like?” 

 

“Well, for today I thought we’d chill for a bit before hitting the treadmills, do some lifting, do some mock drills, and then we can head out to the slopes and get some runs in. Nothing too crazy, but we need to keep up your adrenaline pumping and your head in the game. Then we can get some hot chocolate and head to the West hill to watch Pidge.” Hunk calculated, ending on a positive note to combat Lance’s inevitable grown. “After your first race on Tuesday you have one on Friday, and one on Monday. Then you’re done.” 

 

“Scores totaled and finalized, then the top of the podium with Kogane to my right, Star-Spangled banner playing over the loudspeaker…” 

 

“Don’t get so sure of yourself yet. Anything can happen.” Hunk reasoned, giving Lance a pointed look. “Speaking of Kogane, I want you to be sportsmanly to him.” 

 

Lance gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Yeah, okay.” 

 

“I mean it.” Hunk dropped his voice. “I know you two are competitors and he’s your biggest threat, and there’s a lot of tension there, but there’s nothing worse than a bad sport.” 

 

“Hunk, relax.” Lance assured, raising his eyebrows. “You know me! I’m the king of manners. A  _ gentleman _ , as I recall you saying.” 

 

“I know you are.” Hunk sighed. “And people  _ like _ you, Lance. A lot. You’re a great representative of America, a light-hearted kid, a rookie, but a strong contestant, and you’re quite charismatic.” 

 

Lance flashed one of his dashing smiles, basking in the praise that Hunk wasn’t afraid of giving, but wasn’t exactly fruitiful in his flattery due to Lance’s affinity for it. 

 

“But you can get cocky.” Hunk warned, shaking his pointer finger. “And no one likes that. Don’t push it too far, and people will appreciate you being civil towards Kogane.” 

 

“Sure, sure, sure...” Lance said, pushing himself off the bed and grabbing an apple to head for the door. 

 

“Where are you going?” Hunk asked. 

 

“You know I can’t start my morning right without Frosted Flakes.” Lance said innocently, throwing on a beany and taking a bite out of his apple. “As good as that all looks.” 

 

Hunk nodded and gave him a face that said  _ but of course _ . “You go, I’ve got some drills to hash out.”

 

Lance gave him some finger guns and turned to unlock the door and head out, before Hunk screamed out a “Make some friends!” and Lance responded with an “Okay Mom!” 

 

* * *

 

When Lance reached the cafeteria, he immediately regretted his choice of fuzzy slippers and flannel pajama pants. It was full of athletes, most if not all dressed in workout clothes or full-gear, prepared for the day and chatting idly with coaches or at most, people from their own country’s teams.

 

Lance felt his shoulders drop, feeling instantly out of place. He thought that an international cafeteria and commons area was supposed to inspire international discussion and lighthearted fun, but most people seemed to be focused on getting their Cliff bars and conferring with trainers on their choice of power juice. Not to mention he was the only one in pajamas still, despite it being well-before 8:00.

But Lance was sort of used to feeling like an outcast, being on the younger spectrum and less-experienced. Many Olympics were well into their thirties, having been training all their lives at rigorous proportions with the best of the best, eight days a week. Lance could never afford all that, but he learned not to care, reveling in the fact that it was his strong-will and determination that got him here; not the money.

 

He brushed off the agitation swirling in his stomach and padded into the cafeteria with his head high, embracing the subtle looks of skepticism from other Olympians on the way in, reminding himself who he was and how he was just as worthy--or maybe even more worthy--than any other athlete to be here. 

 

Lance’s eyes caught on the vacant cereal machine, the rotating kind with peaks of various cereals and handles to turn and dispense it. A breath of relief filled his chest when he saw the  _ Frosted Flakes _ , scoring a bowl and probably getting a little more than the serving size, but no matter. He deserved it, though. 

 

Something flashes in Lance’s peripheral that for some reason has him turning away from the pouring of milk into his heaping bowl of cereal to find the source of movement. 

 

It’s merely another athlete, over by the fruit picking through a tray of oranges. But when they turn their face to survey a bowl of granola, Lance’s expression drops to find its none other than Keith Kogane. 

 

Lance’s knee-jerk reaction is to roll his eyes and sizzle with competitive fury, but he stops himself in his tracks. Although everyone in the world has them pinned against each other, Lance really knows nothing about him. He’s never had one singular conversation or interaction, despite the fact that he’s been studying him for months and hearing nothing but their names and pictures side by side for longer. He could be the nicest guy in the world, and even though it was in Lance’s nature to hate thy biggest threat, a little Hunk-voice popped into the back of his head, reminding him to be sportmansly. 

 

And this was his chance. 

 

A smile crept onto Lance’s face as he ambled his way over, eyeing the boy who was dressed in a red jumpsuit with a Japanese flag on the shoulder, covering practically everything save his mullet.  

 

“Kogane!” He called out when he was a foot away, voice coming out a little too forceful and a much too cheerful. 

 

His head whipped around suspiciously only to rest his eyes on Lance, expression slowly melting into something full of dull but explicit unrest. 

 

“I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced.” Lance extended a hand once he reached him, cracking a toothy smile. “I’m Lance. Mcclain.” 

 

Kogane gave him a once-over, stopping at the hand resting idly between them, and then turned back to his granola. “I know who you are.” 

 

Lance blinked a few times and looked down at his hand himself, wondering if he did something wrong. He cleared his throat and studied Kogane’s profile, framed by thick dark hair that somehow read as disinterested. “So, how has your time in Korea been?” 

 

Keith turned full away from him now, picking up his tray and moving towards the drink section, utterly ignoring the question. Lance furrowed his brow, following him. “Cool, cool. What’s the training been like? Slopes here are smooth, eh?”

 

Still, no response. His back remained turned and Lance furrowed his brow, not ready to give up yet. “You excited for our first run on Tuesday?” 

 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

 

Lance let out a huff of exasperation. “Whatcha got there?” He asked curiously, peeking over Kogane’s shoulder to his tray. “A single banana? That’s it?” 

 

“What do you suggest instead?” Kogane said finally with a harsh bite, turning around to rest his face centimeters away from Lance’s. 

 

“Well,”  Lance blinked again, thoroughly taken aback. “I usually go with a healthy serving of  _ Frosted Flakes _ .” 

 

He gestured down to his bowl and Kogane’s eyes didn’t follow, narrowing.

 

“You know,  _ They’re grrrrrrreat! _ ” Lance recited out, channeling Tony the Tiger with a shaky grin. Kogane didn’t reciprocate. He looked unamused. Lance dropped his shoulders. “They sponsor me.” 

 

Lance could have sworn Kogane rolled his eyes as he turned away again, grabbing a bottle of green juice and heading to the checkout line. Lance continued trailing close behind, mind sputtering and trying to think of something else to say. 

 

When they reached the front, Kogane was about to punch in his code before Lance stopped him, waving at the cashier. “I’ll get it!” 

 

Kogane’s finger paused in mid-air, face slowly turning to look up at Lance with an expression of disbelief. “Put it on my tab.” 

 

Kogane gave him an irate look that read as practically murderous, not exactly the reaction Lance was going for. 

 

Without another word he snatched up his tray potently and stomped away, having Lance calling after him with a “Okay, bye!” that sounded so incredibly desperate and lame. 

 

As he watched him walk off, Lance noticed the shift in his own motives. Initially, he didn’t really care about being genial to his fellow Olympic slalomist. But now this was a challenge, and it had suddenly become an unconscious priority for Lance to be Keith Kogane’s best friend.


	4. Datum Perficiemus Munus

“And he did not even say _ thank you _ ?” Lance’s trainer asked in sarcastic blasphemy, putting his hands to his face. 

 

“No,  _ Sven _ , he didn’t.” Lance said gruffly, throwing down the weight a little too forcefully at the derision. 

 

“Ah, ah, ah! Ten more rep.” Sven wagged a finger at Lance and set a timer, watching him meticulously. Lance groaned and picked up the weight again, giving Hunk a pointed look. 

 

“You did nothing wrong, Lance.” He assured from next to Sven. “He just needs some time to...warm up.” 

 

“He sound like a typical Olympian.” Sven commentated, stopping the clock when Lance finished, sweat pooling in his lower back. “He has eyes on the prize. No wonder he doesn’t want associate with you. You’re only thing in his way.” 

 

Lance pondered this for a moment, sweeping beads of sweat off of his temples. Sven was probably right, as a former Scandinavian Olympian himself and someone who now worked with the corporation as an offered trainer, though most coaches doubled as such. He would know, and Kogane did seem like the kind of person who knew what he wanted and wasn’t going to do anything to compromise that. 

 

“Once he gets to know me, he’s going to  _ love _ me.” Lance grinned, nodding emphatically. “And then he won’t even see me coming! He’ll probably think I’m so juvenile and amicable, he won’t know what hit him when I snag that Gold. We’ll still be friends after, of course.”

 

“Okay, loverboy.” Sven chuckled, patting Lance’s back in the treadmill. “15 more minutes sprinting. Gotta stay fit if you’re going knock Kogane’s socks out.” 

 

“And you gotta remember that the reason he doesn’t wanna talk to you is because he knows exactly how much of a threat you are. No amount of brown-nosing and friendly banter will change that.” Hunk warned, and Lance stuck out his tongue at him before hopping onto the treadmill and setting it to an eight. 

 

“ _ Nine _ , Mcclain.” Sven instructed and Lance groaned again, picking up his pace. 

 

When the workout was over and Lance was leaving the gym with a towel around his neck, he saw Kogane heading into the Japanese commons to their gym, towel over his hair and eyes cast to the ground. Lance waved, and then decided that Kogane just couldn’t see him because of the cloth blocking his peripheral vision, and forgave him for not waving back. 

 

* * *

Lance closed his eyes for a moment, letting his feet slide into position and body rest against the launch center like clockwork, muscles leading him into place before he could even begin to tell them what to do. Pidge often joked that Lance’s skiing was controlled by the medulla of his brain stem like breathing and heart rate, entirely involuntary and something that had always come naturally.

 

The sun was setting above him and there was an air of peace on the mountain that lacked during any other time of the day. It was Lance’s favorite time to do runs, when the sun broached the hills and projected rays of pink and orange into the clouds and turned them into cotton candy spun by the hands of the wind. 

 

Hunk’s words filtered into his ears through the silence, putting his mind back into focus on the hill in front of him rather than the sky. 

 

Sometimes Lance thinks if he wasn’t a slalomer he would have been a pilot. 

 

“...and don’t forget to watch your weight distribution on your right turns. You tend to become off balance when you slide into the angle...” 

 

Lance rolled his eyes, having heard these things a million times before. He was aching to just go, itching for the release and feeling of weightlessness that was lost in his moments off the hill. This was truly where he belonged, and he decided that Hunk belonged at the bottom of the slope where he did wait the majority of the time. 

 

“Okay, Hunk. I get it. Can I go now?” Lance interrupted, unintentionally snapping. 

 

Hunk breathed out into a chuckle and placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder, encased in an insulated thermal jumpsuit equipped with the technology of lightweight aerodynamics and warmth. Part of him was amazed at the clothes he was given and proud to be able to wear it, part of him missed his scrappy old fleece jacket that he practiced in at home. 

 

He shook that out of his mind and replaced it with a forced sense of gratuity that he was here and was lucky enough to be wearing the orange PyeongChang-branded gear. 

 

“Alright, Lance. Three, Two O--” 

 

But Lance never let him finish before he was off, catapulting himself down the mountain with his poles extended in his hands and wind in his hair. It was chilling almost, the familiarity yet divergence from his routine and the brisk transition into the Olympian course. His movements were fluid and natural, yet something felt off. It always did when he wasn’t at home, surrounded by everything he had always known and a mountain that felt more like home than his own house did. But now he was thrust into this world where he didn’t quite fit in, and he constantly felt himself having to stop and be thankful for how far he had come, knowing that if he didn’t make it here on this mountain, he would never be satisfied. 

 

He tuned everything out at that moment: Hunk’s shouts, his fears, the feeling of unfamiliarity from the mountain to his regulated goggles, the cut of the wind, the bleak absence of home, and let himself sink into the confidence that was bursting at his seams, begging to be let out. 

 

A smirk crept onto his face as he slid into a perfect position, practically smack in the middle of two red flags, a location that would give him double the points in that sector. His muscles took over, pushing him into a rhythm that was signature for Lance, one without a beat of dissonance that demanded perfection each time he skied. 

 

It was fast, and it caught Lance’s breath in his throat and made the corners of his vision weaken into darkness, but Lance didn’t need to see. He could run this blindfolded, and the smile on his face was plastered there as he reached the bottom of the hill, circling around the exit and pulling off his goggles to search for Hunk, already descending down the side of the mountain. He was going to be proud, probably say something about him being overly-confident, but proud nonetheless. 

 

Just then, another skier rounded the corner, and Lance immediately identified them as Kogane, followed closely by someone Lance presumed to be a coach or trainer, a tall man with sunglasses on and a thick Olympic coat, mouth curled into a tasteless downturn. 

 

Lance took this as an opportunity, pushing himself with his poles next to Kogane, aligning with his pace. “Hey, Kogane!”

 

“Hi.” 

 

A response! Lance took that as a small victory, heart flaring and expression softening. “You headed up for a run?” 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Nice, nice.” Lance responded, nodding slowly. He swallowed, running through his brain for something else to say. 

 

They reached the lift and Kogane’s trainer cut Lance off, jarring expression and the disposition of a statue. Lance watched as they swung into the seat, Kogane’s coach pushing his sunglasses up on his head to lean into Keith and whisper something into his ear, causing Kogane’s eyes to flash back to Lance. They caught his gaze, cold and blunt, and Lance stood idle, watching as the lift ascended the mountain. Lance felt a pang of something, a reminder of a feeling that was rooted in elementary school and not having a place to sit at lunch. 


	5. Ex Gratia

Lance felt his legs forcing him to stand when Kogane walked into the lodge, pulling a snowy beanie off icicle-bound black bangs. “Great run!”

 

Kogane’s eyes swished to Lance and weakened at the sight of him, as if his mere presence was more exhausting than the course itself. 

 

His response was more of a grunt than it was benediction. He began turning to walk away, but stopped in his tracks and turned back, opening his mouth as if he was about to say something to Lance. 

 

But a sharp voice interrupted him before words could follow. “Keith! Are you coming?” 

 

“ _ Suggoku gomen ne _ , yes.” Keith responded quickly, jerking into attention. 

 

Lance’s shoulders fell as Kogane turned away, led away by his coach who had his eyes set on the training room. 

 

Lance let out a frustrated sigh and was met by a reassuring hand on his shoulder from Hunk.

 

“At least he acknowledged you this time.” 

 

* * *

 

Lance and Hunk got to the track early, prepared with layers of scarves and hats and jackets and coats, all printed with red white and blue design that was unmistakably American, even without the ‘USA’ embroidered across the chest. They wanted to get the best seats possible, which actually required them standing pressed up against the cold metal of a barricade that separated them from the very start of the track, alone except for a few press and camerapeople. 

 

“Awesome,” Lance breathed, rubbing his gloved hands together. “First one’s here.” 

 

“Oh man, I’m so excited for Pidge. She’s going to be amazing.” Hunk gleamed. 

 

“She better win.” Lance bounced, already getting giddy. “How much time until the race starts?” 

 

Hunk uncovered his watch from under his sleeve and frowned. “Two hours and twelve minutes.” 

 

“Really?” Lance dropped to a monotonous tone, smile wavering. 

 

Hunk shrugged. “What should we do to pass the time?” 

 

They ended up starting a highly competitive game of finger chopsticks in which Hunk won every time, despite Lance’s determination. Crowds started forming around them, pushing them closer in until they had to play over the barricades in lieu of facing each other. 

 

The arena was packed when they finished their seventeenth game, lined with multicolored flags and observers who were cheering despite the vacancy of the tracks and nothing necessarily to cheer about. Kogane himself was packed between a group of other Japanese athletes and supporters on the other side, standing next to his coach with eyes trained on the icy track as he whispered to Kogane. 

 

“Look who it is.” Hunk nudged at Lance who was already looking in that direction. “Your buddy.” 

 

“He’s not my buddy yet.” Lance corrected, pulling at the tips of his gloves. “But he will be.” 

 

“Maybe he doesn’t  _ want _ to be your buddy, ever thought of that?” Hunk said with light humor, not too snarky, because it was Hunk. 

 

“Nonsense.” Lance batted his eyelashes. “ _ Everyone _ wants to be friends with me.” 

 

“I don’t know if his coach has anywhere to squeeze friendship into their schedule.” Hunk muttered. “I’m surprised they even made it here.” 

 

Lance furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” 

 

“Well, I didn’t want to tell you this before and psych you out, but Kogane’s team is like, the most cut-throat regiment in the biz. Practices and training every day, nonstop, 24/7. Specific diets, regulated rest times, strategizing in your  _ sleep _ . You think I’m a hardass? Oh man, you don’t know the half of it. His coach is like the military director a boot camp of one and punishment for failure is  _ death _ .” 

 

“Jesus…” Lance mumbled. “How is telling me this now not going to psych me out?” 

 

“Well, I figured it’s too late now to make any drastic changes in our practices…and I like the way we do things around here! We don’t need army sacrifices.” Hunk explained hurriedly. 

 

“Poor guy.” Lance said, shoulders dropping. 

 

Hunk blinked at him. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”

 

“Well yeah, it’s impressive, but I kinda feel bad for him. Dude probably doesn’t know how to have any fun.” 

 

“I don’t think that word’s even in his  _ vocabulary _ .” Hunk chuckled. “All he sees is Gold.” 

 

Lance let the thought sit for a second, trying to conceptualize the weight of those words and the situation. What could he do? 

 

“I know that look.” Hunk narrowed his eyes. “You’re thinking of a plan. A Helpful Plan. A plan to help someone.” 

 

“What can I say Hunk? It’s in my nature.” 

 

“I know, I know.” Hunk agreed. “But I don’t think that boy can be saved.”

 

Lance opened his mouth but the loudspeaker interrupted him, announcing the race. Lance’s entire focus shifted, eyes trained on the starting line that Pidge was going to walk out in minutes, racing her first ever Olympic skeleton. His arm involuntarily reached to clutch onto Hunk, and he clutched back tighter, pulse in his hand. 

 

“It’s alright man, she’ll be fine.” Lance assured.

 

“I know, I know, it’s just such a dangerous sport, and she’s going first, and she’s so young I mean, most skeleton and luge racers are in their  _ forties _ because it takes so long to master, and--” 

 

“Hunk.” Lance said, hooking his hand to the shake in Hunk’s arm. “She’s going to be great.” 

 

Hunk nodded, releasing a breath. 

 

“And besides, she’s been doing practice runs nonstop ever since you mentioned it yesterday.” 

 

Hunk beamed. “And she says I don’t know what I’m talking about!” 

 

The crowd erupted into hoots of adoration as Pidge stepped out before the track, head covered by a helmet that looked too big for her, little body encased in an airtight body suit. Still, despite her size, she commanded the room and her confidence swelled over the crowd. Although the cheering did happen to be concentrated in the American section, everyone went ham for Pidge, and now Lance’s pulse was skyrocketing by the time the judges announced her. 

 

“Up first is American Katie Holt--” --A grimace from Pidge-- “The youngest and shortest skeleton racer in Olympic history at 17 and 5 feet.” 

 

“There’s no wonder why they call her ‘The Prodigy’.” The other announcer said as Pidge stretched out her limbs effortlessly. “She runs this course like she’s done it all her life. Smooth as butter.” 

 

Hunk let out a boisterous “Yeah Pidge!!” which Lance followed with a “You got this!” 

 

Heads turned to them, including a camera that shifted the focus to Lance and Hunk, announcers noting their attendance. Lance smiled as his face was projected above them on the screen that showed the NBC stream. But it looked insincere when he saw himself, and he realized how much he didn’t want this to be about him. He waved the camera off and pointed to Pidge who seemed oblivious to the diversion of attention, but either way he felt guilty. 

 

“It’s okay, Lance.” Hunk said, reading the situation and Lance’s contrition.  Pidge turned to them and gave them a thumbs up, and Lance felt better.

 

“Anyway, it seems The Prodigy will be the one to beat. Let’s watch.” 

 

And with that Pidge was off, charging down the slope with little legs carrying her into a sprint with her sled in front, head down and momentum pushing forward. Lance was unsure how someone that tiny could push something that fast and with that much force. It was incredible, and it was a nice reminder for Lance who often forgot just how talented she was. 

 

Hunk and Lance erupted into screams that overpowered the rest of the people around them and sent stares their way, but they didn’t care. Lance took off his USA hat and waved it back and forth at Pidge as she jumped onto her sled head first and raced off, in a blink of an eye. 

 

Their attention went to the screen to watch the rest of the race and they didn’t stop screaming until she reached the finish line, which made them scream even louder, because she did not have one hiccup and practically beat a world record. Her movements were fluid and by the time she got there, Lance almost forgot it was her until she stood and removed her helmet to reveal that iconic brown tuft of hair. 

 

The time went up on the board. 1:09.45. Lance’s eyes widened and he turned to Hunk, heart beating out of his chest and jumping into his arms. The other Americans behind them were just as ecstatic, the rest of the crowd clapping politely with raised eyebrows. 

 

“That’s gotta be a world record or something--holy shit!” Lance squealed when he broke free from Hunk. 

 

“ _ Wow _ , what an amazing run!” The announcers said through chuckles of bewilderment, just as astonished. “It’ll be a miracle if someone beats that,  _ wow _ .”

 

Pidge was blowing kisses to the audience and waving at the camera, totally indulgent in the well-deserved praise. If Lance could be any more prideful, his face would surely detach from his skull. 

 

Pidge’s coach smiled and gave her a lukewarm pat on the back and Lance couldn’t help but smirk, knowing how she dissed Hunk for being so close to Lance while being his coach. 

 

“The Prodigy has done it again.” One of the announcers boomed over the incessant ovation. “I can’t say we expected any less.” 

 

“I’m so  _ freaking _ proud of her.” Hunk smiled, voice catching in his throat. 

 

“She did that.” Lance said, turning to look at him with stars in his eyes. “Things she did: that.” 

 

“Up next is Akari Shirogane.” 

 

They swiveled their heads to the starting point where the next skeleton racer stood, stiff and focused. She was about Lance’s age, and had a Japanese flag printed on her jumpsuit and a placid manner that was juxtaposed with Pidge’s roudiness. The crowd was dialed back except for a loud applause from the Japanese side across from them, and Lance’s eyes were drawn to Kogane immediately. 

 

He had pushed himself to the front and was staring intently at Shirogane, a hint of something spreading across his cheeks that resembled a smile. Lance looked between the two of them and it fell into place. 

 

“I think that’s Kogane’s girlfriend.” Lance whispered to Hunk, nodding in their direction. Hunk looked up and studied Kogane’s expression, humming in agreement. 

 

He looked at Lance, now studying his expression. “What?” 

 

“What?” Lance echoed, stuttering into attention. 

 

Hunk’s eyes narrowed, turning back to watch Akari’s start, but left with his focus on Kogane’s face, twisting into something that might have even been enjoyment, if he was reaching. 

 

Her race was good. Really good, actually. Her weight was heavier than Pidge’s, so she didn’t move as smoothly, but it also added a level of momentum as she sped through the track and came up on the sides. She finished at 1:10:02. 

 

“Not bad.” Hunk nodded in approval. 

 

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him happy.” Lance murmured. Hunk flashed his eyes to Kogane who eyes had a glint that resembled contentment as he stared at the opposite screen where Shirogane was displayed. 

 

His gaze fell down to meet Lance’s, glimmer dissipating into the same cold look he seemed to always emit. 

 

Lance frowned. 

 

The night went on, each skeleton racer impressive, but no one catching Pidge as close as Shirogane did. There were a couple that had Lance’s pulse racing and mittens clutching Hunk’s, but it was clear as more and more people raced that Pidge was truly the outlier, and the champion. 

 

By the time the crowd had dissipated and the night fell into mutters of silence, Lance’s eyes felt weak and his body felt brittle. He had been begging Hunk to go and sneak in the back to congratulate Pidge all night, but he insisted that they wait until the race was over and the crowd had thinned. 

 

“Okay, let’s go.” Hunk waved Lance along and they creeped through the shadows, hoping to peek around the side of the back building and into the lounge where the skeleton racers conveined. 

 

Luckily, no one bothered to block the door and it was a miracle that it was open, letting warm air rush to drive out the cold as they creaked it open and slipped inside. 

 

They found Pidge by a water jug, leaning on the side and scrolling through her phone, looking nonchalant as ever. 

 

“ _ Pidge! _ ” Hunk squealed, running forward and practically tackling her. She let out a cry that was quickly muffled by Hunk’s chest which was now being squeezed in. 

 

“What, are you  _ fools _ , doing here!” She whispered in punctuated sentences, trying not to crack a smile as she pushed them back outside. 

 

“C’mon, you really expected us to wait till tomorrow to see you?” Lance said, pulling her in and giving her a noogie. “After  _ that _ race?” 

 

“Yeah!” Hunk protested. “ _ You’re _ the fool.” 

 

Pidge let her face crack into a smile, blushing at the praise but assuming a stance of confidence. “I kicked ass out there, didn’t I?” 

 

“You sure did.” Lance smiled. 

 

“We’re so effing proud.” Hunk winked. 

 

“We’ll see how I do Thursday. I guess it’s really between me and that Akari chick.” Pidge said, folding her arms. “I can take her, though.” 

 

Lance played with the zipper of his jacket. “Yeah, you can. How many more races do you have again?” 

 

“Only one.” She replied, then added: “Three’s for pussies.”

 

“Okay Hunk, I’m ready to go now.” Lance said forcefully, turning to him. 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Pidge chuckled, rubbing at her arms which were obviously getting cold through the thin material. “Get your scrawny asses out of here--I’ve got interviews to do.” 

 

“I resent that!” Hunk said as they turned to leave, swatted away by Pidge. 

 

“Yeah! We are curvy people!” Lance called back. 

 

“‘We’?” Hunk questioned with a raised eyebrow, poking at Lance’s flat stomach. 

 

Lance stuck his tongue out at Hunk and looked past him to see someone else walking not too far away, hands deep in pockets and side illuminated by the large moon in the sky. They turned to reveal a mullet and Lance smiled to himself, giving Hunk a “one sec” gesture and jogging to meet him. 

 

“Kogane! Wait up!” Lance flagged him down, snow crunching beneath his feet while tears pooled at his eyes from the wind. 

 

But instead of ignoring him like always, Kogane turned around quickly, lifting his shoulders to his ears and narrowing his gaze. “Will you stop doing that?” 

 

Lance stopped in his tracks. “...what?” 

 

“Pretending like we’re friends or something!” Kogane spat out, voice hoarse and forceful. 

 

“I-I’m n--” 

 

“Oh, so you’re just trying to figure me out, then? Gauge the competition? Get on my good side?” 

 

“No, I’m just--” Lance sputtered. 

 

“Look, I’m going to say it once and I’m not going to say it again.” 

 

Lance swallowed a lump in his throat, blinking hard. 

 

“We’re rivals. We’re not friends. We’re never going to be friends. Stop trying.” 

 

Lance opened his mouth and let out a weak. “Okay.” 

 

“And for the love of God, stop following me!” Keith shouted, throwing his hands into the air and starting to turn. 

 

“ _ Following _ you?” Lance scoffed out, crossing his arms and advancing towards him, not ready to let that go. “Now you’re in over your head, Kogane.” 

 

“I came here for my best  _ friend _ , who just came in first and beat your  _ girlfriend _ by a mile.” His tone was jagged and out of character, cutting through the wind and sending jolts through his body. “Not everything’s about you, you realize that? You may be a good slalomer, but you should stop putting yourself on some sort of...pedestal of pretention!” 

 

“I don’t think you’re using that word correctly.” 

 

“Whatever!” Lance cried out, folding his arms into himself. He let out a huff and watched his breath coil. “Look, I was just trying to be sportsmanly before, but I get it. I’ll back off.” 

 

“Good.” Kogane snapped. 

 

“Good!” Lance barked. 

 

“Good!” Kogane yelled.

  
They turned away from each other in a simultaneous snapping motion, and Lance felt himself fuming. He couldn’t believe he had ever tried to be nice to such a…. _ douche _ . Desperate to not let Kogane get the last word, he turned his head to throw something over his shoulder. “Pretending to like you was getting exhausting, anyway.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if my japanese is off, correct me if it's really bad lol


	6. Fas est et Ab Hoste Doceri

The next morning, Lance wakes up feeling different, and a lot worse. His limbs are sore and his head is foggy, and the last possible thing he wants to do right now is get up and train.

 

Hunk stood over him and the presence was tugging at his eyelids, so Lance flipped himself over to bury his face into his pillow and pray that he’ll give him five more minutes. 

 

“Nuh huh huh.” Hunk grumbled, shaking Lance’s shoulder. “I gave you an extra half hour. It’s time to get up.” 

 

Lance mustered a groan and pulled his blanket up over his ears. 

 

“ _ Lance _ .” Hunk urged, snatching the blanket and ripping it off of him so he was bare. 

 

“Hey!” Lance whined in a cracked voice, curling up in a fetal position in an attempt to retain warmth. He refused to open his eyes. 

 

Hunk sat down next to him, patting him lightly on his head. “If you get up now we can order waffles.” 

 

Lance’s eyes flashed open, and peeked a look at Hunk, deciding whether or not he should give in so easily. 

 

“Chocolate chip?” Lance asked, sounding like a five year old. 

 

“ _ But of course, _ ” Hunk grinned, grabbing the phone to dial room service. 

 

Lance figured he had to get up eventually, and waffles were a good foot to start the day off on. 

 

What was not a good foot, however, was his first run of the day being postponed because of high winds, forcing Lance to sit fully dressed in the lodge with the other slalomists, waiting out the weather. 

 

This meant a constant staring battle between Lance and Kogane, who sat on the other side of the room with his arms crossed against the wall, shooting daggers with his eyes at Lance. Lance shot them back too, eager to prove that his daggers were worse. Sharper.  _ Bigger _ . 

 

“You know, Lance.” Hunk leaned in, noting Lance’s disgruntled expression toward the other skier. “We can go train with Sven while we’re waiting. So you don’t have to… associate with the  competition.” 

 

“Associate?” Lance sputtered, turning to him. “I’m not associating.  _ He’s _ the one associating.” 

 

“Whatever you’re doing...with your… eyes.” Hunk measured, watching Lance’s flippant gaze. 

 

“I can’t lose my spot. I know they’ll give the all-clear immediately after I leave. Murphy’s law.” 

 

Hunk raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Lance explained, not bothering to tear his eyes from Kogane who was standing so inconspicuously hostile, thick eyebrows dragged down to scrunch up his expression and make his animosity clear. 

 

“You’re ridiculous.” Hunk said, suppressing a laugh and half prepared for Lance to just stick out his tongue at Kogane like they were in a sandbox duel. 

 

* * *

The hills never opened and after awhile, the skiers began losing patience and peeling off to go train elsewhere, giving up hope. Lance was stubborn however, and so was Kogane, until they were the last ones there with blazing glares at each other. Neither one wanted to be the first one to leave, and it resorted in Hunk having to physically drag Lance out of the lodge, murmuring about how childish they were.

 

The day went on boringly and as a blur, filled with a non-stop extensive workout that left Lance beat. 

 

He hung his legs over the bar in the gym like a sloth, letting the blood rush to his head. He saw it in a  _ Nickelodeon _ show when he was seven, the character noting how the position helped them think better. Lance didn’t know if that was factually based, but since then it was his go to pondering position. 

 

Somehow, his mouth that always ran when his adrenaline was up seemed to revert back to Keith Kogane, always flipping the conversation back around to him and his stupid mullet, his stupid eyebrows, his stupid eyes and his stupid, mean face. The races were still a week away, yet Lance couldn’t help but feel like he had already lost. 

 

“Are you sure you don’t crush on this boy?” Sven asked, shifting a weight back into place. 

 

Lance scoffed. 

 

“He’s only hyper fixated on Kogane because he doesn’t like him.” Hunk answered for him, ringing his sweatshirt string around his finger. “If Kogane was even mildly friendly towards him he wouldn’t give a shit. But Lance has to make everyone like him. He won’t accept less.” 

 

“Well,” Sven huffed incredulously. “You can’t win them all.” 

“Can we do yoga?” Lance asked randomly, letting his legs fall and fold above his head to roll back up straight. 

 

Hunk checked his watch, shaking his head. “No, we need to get going. You need to shower and get in bed early tonight.” 

 

“But Mommmm.” Lance whined as they made their way out of the gym, waving bye to Sven. 

 

Lance turned around to face forward only to practically slam into someone shoving a microphone in his face. 

 

“Hello, Mr. Mcclain! Can we get an interview?”

 

Lance collected himself to see Allura there, the reporter from NBC with a camera and an eager smile plastered on her face. 

 

“Oh, uh, yeah!” Lance stuttered. “Sure.” 

 

“Thanks so much.” She smiled, turning around to point to the cameraman and he gave her a countdown with his fingers. 

 

“Here I am with Lance Mcclain, the 22 year old Giant Slalomist and one of the top contenders for the gold, how are you doing Mr. Mcclain?” Allura said in one quick, articulated breath, leaning the microphone to him. 

 

Lance fiddled with the towel wrapped around his neck, ears burning. He shot a look over to Hunk who stood behind the cameraman, giving him a thumbs up. He cleared his throat.

 

“I’m doing well, how about you, Allura?” Lance said smoothly, suave as usual, raising an eyebrow at the attractive reporter. God, he was  _ truly _ incredible. 

 

Allura gave a doubtful chuckle. “I’m fine, now Lance...” 

 

“You are.” 

 

She stopped and gave him a pointed look before turning back to the camera with a huff. “So how did the wind impact your training today?” 

Lance cleared his throat again. “I ended up in the training room with my trainer, doing a workout for the last...six hours or so.” 

 

“Wow, intense.” Allura remarked monotonously. “Do you think the weather conditions will affect your training regimen for the next week?” 

 

“Nah, nah.” Lance rubbed his forehead with his towel, leaning his weight onto his right foot. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

 

“Except your competitors, of course.” Allura reminded stiffly, looking at the camera. “Specifically Keith Kogane, the Japanese slalomist and your biggest threat. What do you have to say about him?” 

 

“Uh,” Lance swallowed thickly. “Well, I know he’s a great skier and...he sure is...someone to beat. I wish him the best.” 

 

Allura looked mildly surprised. “Well there you have it, everybody. Lance Mcclain turns out to be a pretty okay guy, and he sure is someone to watch this Olympics. Coran?” 

 

Lance beamed as the camera was lowered and Allura dropped her prim disposition, relaxing into normalcy. 

 

She turned around and gave Lance a tight smile and looked him over curiously before walking off, never giving Lance the chance to say anything. 

 

“Wow, I’m impressed.” Hunk said, meeting up with Lance.

 

“Hm?” 

 

“You had an open opportunity to  _ flame _ Kogane.” Hunk chuckled. “But you didn’t.” 

 

Lance shrugged. “People are already trying to pin us against each other.” 

 

“Then why hold back?” Hunk questioned. “He’s an asshole, he deserves it.” 

 

Lance turned to face him. “He already hates me, I don’t want the world to, too. No one likes a bad sport.” 

 

“I trained you well.” Hunk smiled, clearly testing him. “You’re actually being mature for once. Way to be the bigger person.” 

 

“Besides,” Lance grinned, stepping into the elevator and pushing their floor number. “All the satisfaction I need comes from imagining Keith’s face when he sees how much of a gentleman I was.”


	7. Genius Loci

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my favorite chapter so far

As a rule of thumb, showers were Lance’s favorite thing in the entire world.

 

His mother always said,  _ “There is nothing a good shower can’t fix.”  _

And as another rule of thumb, Lance’s mother was always right. 

 

But for them to be most effective, they must be scalding hot, at least half an hour, and equipped with a waterproof speaker reverberating Frank Sinatra off the tile. 

 

Lance did his best thinking in the shower, even better than when he sat with his feet above his head. Every single problem he had was solved while showering, basking in the warm water that dripped down his skin and soothed his wounds of both physical and emotional turmoil. 

 

But as Lance stepped out of the shower that night, his body was still buzzing with the energy of indignation and displeasure. The usual hum of satisfaction and serendipity that washed over him was replaced by a prick of anxiety under his skin, leaving him restless. 

 

“Where are you going?” Hunk asked when he saw freshly-showered Lance slipping on jeans and his fur-lined coat, brow furrowed. 

 

“I don’t know.” Lance replied blankly, pulling his blue beanie onto his head. 

 

“You never do anything after you shower. Showers are your  _ closure _ .” Hunk noted, standing up to confront him. “Are you okay?” 

 

Lance sighed. “I’m fine, Hunk. I just--need some air.” 

 

Hunk dropped his shoulders, knowing when to let things go and trust him. “Okay.” 

 

“I’ll be back.” And with that, Lance slipped out of the room. 

 

The walk down the hall was eerily silent, and it made Lance’s ears search like they always seemed to do when there was nothing to listen to. A dull ring came through, one that was always below the silence, buzzing when your brain was trying to make sense of nothing there. He decided to drag his feet in his boots so he could listen to something. 

 

He reached the end of the hall and hopped in the elevator, staring blankly at the buttons and realizing he never had any sense of direction. Leaving was his only intention, and for some reason he never thought he would get this far. Sometimes he doubted himself. 

 

His finger reached absent-mindedly for the top floor of the complex, button lighting up the shade of a christmas light and sending the elevator upward. Lance moved back to lean on the railing, drumming his fingers on the metal in silent prayer that no one else would need to get on and suspend his ride. 

 

Luckily, it was going on midnight and contrary to supposed beliefs, the athletes valued sleep more than they valued drinking late and punishing their million-dollar bodies. 

 

Lance reached the top and suddenly felt like he had to rush, lungs heaving for proper air and not the kind encased in the thick walls of the Olympic quarters which felt stuffy and constricting. He jogged to the end of the hall and saw a door labeled  _ “ROOF” _ . His hands flew to the handle and pulled. No give. He pulled again, harder, studying the door and realized it said  _ “Restricted: Authorized Personnel Only” _ in fine print. He slapped the door in fury and gave up pulling, twisting himself around and heading back begrudgingly. 

 

There was only one other place he could think of going, and his feet carried him there before his mind did. 

 

* * *

 

When he made it outside he was relieved to find the wind had died down, and there was nothing more than a light breeze that shifted the powdery snow in its place and pulled at the threads on Lance’s coat. 

 

The mountain was another problem though, and Lance realized that he again hadn’t quite thought this far, again. His mind sifted through ideas on how he could possibly get up it. 

 

He approached the ski lift warily, not really sure what his plan was. It was cold and dark, vacant and creaky in a way that was hauntingly beautiful. His eyes followed the lift up and it seemed to stretch for miles, chairs swinging mildly and leading off into the bleak neverending mountaintop above him. 

 

Lance’s eyes dragged over to the control panel, sitting out idle and almost tauntingly. It begged to be fiddled with, and Lance was weak to the pleads of inanimate objects that ached of rebellion. 

 

He realized he had no idea how to work any of these buttons, or what they meant, which resulted in the idiotic decision to push them randomly until something happened. His eyes darted around to check for onlookers, suddenly extremely paranoid. His coat grew thinner by the second. 

 

Lance was ready to give up until he saw the keyhole, right next to the biggest button that Lance had pressed at least twelve times at this point. He realized it probably needed to be filled with a key and turned, like most keyholes did, and maybe then the ski lift would turn on. 

 

Lance deserted any last fractal of sanity and poked into the mini-office that the ski lift was centered around, ignoring the fact that the ignition of the lift would probably be loud and call alarm to the area and get him in a heap of trouble. He told himself it didn’t matter, and at this point he didn’t care. Something was calling him to the top of the mountain, and even though he knew better, he also was sure that being up there was the only thing that would make him feel content. 

 

A drawer was opened and by some grace of god, a miraculous key was found through a mess of receipts and pieces of gum. Lance felt like he was watching himself through a lense, fitting the key into the keyhole and turning it, pushing the big button and sitting on the lift, riding up the mountain and jumping off, moving without any prompt of prudence or rational. 

 

When he reached the launch zone, he felt himself exhale a breath he had been holding since he got out of the shower, filling his lungs with the air of a snowy mountain. Thin and chilled, dissatisfying to anyone but a skier. 

 

He placed himself at the top, curling his legs in and tilting his chin up to the sky, studying the twinkling stars with mesmerized eyes and full breath. He took it all in and let everything else out, leaning his back against the post behind him, bright orange dull in the moonlight. His eyes were fully adjusted now, and for the first time in awhile he felt at peace, for the most part. There was still a tug in his chest, something that he felt as if he had forgotten. 

 

It was never quiet on a mountain, even in the dead of night. Lance closed his eyes and let himself be wrapped in it like a blanket, the hum of a forest and the prickle of wind around the pine. Something else was buzzing, however. Something less familiar, something manmade and unnatural, something that was just building and wiggled its way into Lance’s attention. 

 

The lift had started again.

 

Lance’s eyes flashed open and he jumped to his feet, concealing himself behind the post, breath picking up as his heart pulsed in his ears. 

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he whispered to himself, accepting that an Olympic official was coming to get him and suspend him from his races for trespassing, causing a huge scandal that would cost Lance his entire career. Jesus Christ, what the hell was he  _ thinking _ ? 

 

He racked his brain for some sort of excuse, deciding that he was going to explain that he lost a...necklace...up here and needed to come find it when no one else was practicing. 

 

Yeah. A necklace. 

 

The lift stopped and Lance’s heart quickened, hiding behind the post, hoping that they would give up and leave before he was found. 

He heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow, gradually getting louder and louder until Lance was sure his heart would give out. 

 

They stopped, at most five yards away from Lance, and as if the universe decided to turn against him at that moment just to laugh in his pitiful face, he sneezed. 

 

“Hello?” A voice rang out. It was deep. Sharp at the edges. Young, however. Not authoritative. Familiar. “Is someone there?” 

 

The footsteps continued and Lance’s brain was still grappling with the information, short-circuiting from the cold and fear built in his chest. Wait. Was that…?

 

“Kogane?” Lance pulled himself out from behind the post to meet the devil himself, wrapped in a thick coat and hands stuffed deep in his pockets. 

 

“Lance?” 

 

Of course, Lance’s knee-jerk reaction was to narrow his eyes and/or roll them, before making a snarky comment or possibly even kicking snow in his face. But something was different about Kogane tonight. Maybe it was the soft lighting, the fatigue in Lance’s body, or how tiny he looked--but Kogane actually seemed...susceptible?

 

Lance’s shoulders dropped. “Hey.” 

 

Kogane seemed hesitant, but let his shoulders drop as well. “Hi.” 

 

Lance cleared his throat. “What are you doing up here?” 

 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Kogane said pointedly, before clearing his own throat and turning away, eyes leading down the mountain. “I’ve been coming up here every night.” 

 

Lance hummed in acknowledgment, feeling a deep tinge of awkwardness building in his chest, wishing he had something profound or suave to say. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

 

Nice. 

 

Kogane hummed back, refusing to look back at Lance with a stiff neck. 

 

“Look I--” 

 

“Lance, y--” 

 

They both spoke at the same time and Lance felt a chuckle brew in his throat. This was certainly awkward. “You go.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

Kogane’s voice was small yet honest, twisting through the wind and reaching Lance in surprise, pulling out something from his chest. Kogane sat down quickly then, teetering cross-legged on the edge of the launch. 

 

“I’m sorry too. I wasn’t ‘pretending to like you’. I mean, I don’t even know you. Or if I would like you, but you  _ seem _ like someone I...whatever. I’m sorry.” Lance replied in one breath. He filled his stomach up with air and let it out staggeredly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

 

“It’s okay.” 

 

Lance was pulled to the ground as well, gathering his legs into his chest and joining Kogane’s gaze out into the expanse of the sky above. They sat in silence for a little, and it didn’t feel right because Lance was one of those people who never felt comfortable in silence, and was always searching for something to say. 

 

But there was nothing, nothing in the world he could think of to say to him. Eventually, he had just about decided to get up and leave before Kogane spoke again. 

 

“I saw your interview today.” 

 

Lance looked at him. “Yeah?” 

 

“Yeah.” He looked back, meeting his gaze with rough eyebrows but pleading eyes, reading as something inexplicably helpless. 

 

“Thanks for that.” 

 

“Oh…” Lance responded quietly. “It’s nothing.” 

 

“No, no.” Kogane said quickly. “You could have said some pretty nasty things. Especially after the way I acted.” 

 

“Really?” Lance said, picking up an eyebrow. “‘Cause I don’t think I was nice enough.” 

 

Kogane furrowed his brow. 

 

“I could have talked about how much of a people-person you are, or how willing you are to strike up conversation, or how many friends you have...Maybe how laid back you are….or how easy to talk to--” 

 

Lance could have sworn he heard a chuckle before Kogane cut him off. “Alright.” 

 

“Why do you come up here?” Lance asked, suddenly interested. 

 

Kogane shrugged as if he didn’t know, fixed on the slope before him. “It’s quiet.” 

 

“Not really.” 

 

“Well, not with you here.” Kogane said, but not in a rude way. Lance would almost call it playful. 

 

“It feels the same.”

 

“As?” 

 

“You know, the same.” Lance repeated, rocking lightly with this hands clasped around his knees. “Wherever you go, whichever hill you train on, in whatever town or country, it’s still a mountain.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

And Lance didn’t need to explain further, about the texture of the snow or the curve of the hill or the feeling of the skis beneath your feet because he knew Kogane understood it. There were a lot of things that separated them, but the anomaly was that they were also the exact things that made them the same. 

 

They sat again in silence, the rise and fall of Lance’s chest slowing, shoulders relaxing into a leisurely position, post still holding him up. 

 

After awhile he felt his eyelids slipping shut, weight giving out and falling into a cloudy daze. His legs were numb and his teeth were chattering, even through the fatigue. 

 

“Welp,” Lance said suddenly, making Kogane flinch. “I’m exhausted.” 

 

He brushed off his jeans as if something had collected on them when he stood up, feeling as though it was the right motion to make. 

 

In addition, he felt inclined to say something but decided against it, shoving his gloved hands under his armpits as he walked away, mind still trying work out what exactly this meeting had meant. 

 

“Lance.” 

 

He turned around, heart skipping a beat when Kogane was looking at him through the cast of the moon and the midst of the night. 

 

“You can call me Keith.” 

 

Lance felt his cheeks raise into a smile, nodding quickly before turning. 

 

He concluded, as he turned on the lift and fell into a chair, that they might be friends after all. 


	8. Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit

Lance woke up feeling renewed and refreshed the next morning, telling Hunk that his walk last night was exactly the kind of closure he needed, and he could finally breathe easy again. 

 

“I still don’t know what exactly was bothering you,” Hunk shook his head. “But I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

“Not important,” Lance said, before grabbing an orange slice and heading for the door. He didn’t want to get into it or make it a big deal, and something about their meeting felt...private. Like if he shared it with the world it would lose its luster. 

 

“Where are you going this time?” 

 

“ _ Frosted Flakes, _ Hunk.” 

 

“You know, you don’t have to eat them just because they’re your sponsor!” Hunk called after him

 

“You’re right!” Lance yelled back. “They’re my sponsor  _ because _ I eat them!” 

 

* * *

 

The dining hall was less crowded this morning, probably a little late for most athletes to be eating breakfast. Lance was the only person buying food and got out quickly,  _ Frosted Flakes _ shoveled into his mouth before even sitting down. There were broadcasts running on flat screens above them, each one showing different events from different countries. 

 

To his surprise, Lance found Keith sitting under a skating broadcast, Adam Rippon up on the screen. 

 

He decided to sit down. 

 

“He’s good, isn’t he?” 

 

Keith jumped and darted his eyes away from the screen to Lance, who he was clearly not expecting to join him. Lance cracked a toothy grin. Keith stared blankly, and then nodded, slowly returning his captivated attention to the television. 

 

“Not  _ that _ good, of course, because he won’t attempt quads.” Lance commented, hiking his foot up on the chair next to him and leaning into his leg, milk dripping off his chin. 

 

“I didn’t know you liked skating.” Keith replied flatly, and Lance yet again found himself toothy. 

 

“Apparently you do too.” 

 

Keith shrugged, a light dusting of something coating his cheeks. “It was on.” 

 

“Do you know the guy from Japan?” 

 

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Do you think we all know each other?” 

 

“No, no,” Lance threw up his hands in surrender, almost flinging the spoon out of his hand. “Yuzuru Hanyu’s just like, incredible. He’ll probably win the Gold for singles.” 

 

Keith lowered his guard, turning away and nodding thinly. 

 

After a moment, he looked back. “Do you know Rippon?” 

 

Lance shook his head, digging a piece of cereal out from his back molar with his tongue. “I heard he’s a ‘Glamazon Bitch Ready for The Runway’, though.” 

 

Keith nodded seriously, undoubtably trying to maintain a professional composure until Lance let out a snort. He reciprocated with a light chuckle that built into a real-life laugh, filling Lance with a sense of pride for actually getting a human emotion out of this boy. 

 

They sat there for a little while longer, grinning like fools about nothing too funny, watching the rest of the event and making idle chat. 

 

And if you asked him, Lance would completely deny that he ate his Frosted Flakes a smidgen slower just so he could savor it.

 

* * *

“...and then I told him that he could suck it and I didn’t need his sorry ass.” Pidge said with a smug lift of an eyebrow. She drew the powerade to her lips, sipping it slowly and apathetically. 

 

“I can’t believe you.” Hunk shook his head, placing a hand over his forehead and leaning on the vending machine. Pidge was telling the elaborate story of how she successfully fired her coach in 3 days flat that morning. 

 

“Me neither!” Lance said in a much more cheery tone, giving her a high five. 

 

“No,” Hunk snapped. “I mean I can’t  _ believe _ you. How are you going to continue without a coach?” 

 

“I’ll be fine.” Pidge waved off with a flippant hand. 

 

“Pidge…” Hunk warned. 

 

“He underestimated me!” Pidge grumbled. “I’m the best skeleton racer in the  _ world _ , and I  _ deserve _ someone who treats me like it.” 

 

Lance shook his head like a mother watching her baby get spaghetti all over their face. For all the trouble she was, a part of him wished he had that much confidence in his self-worth. If anyone could race solo without a coach, it was Pidge.

 

He ran his towel around the back of his exposed neck, watching as Keith walked out of the gym, encased by the arm of his coach. Lance dropped his left hand from the towel and waved. He saw the recognition wash over Keith and this time, his eyes didn’t dim. He raised a tentative hand and waved back. 

 

Lance smiled, and the reciprocation felt twice as gratifying.


	9. In Flore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh

Lance was splayed out on his bed that night, blinking at the bare ceiling and following a crack with his eyes that branched out like a crevice in the earth’s crust. Hunk was talking to him, but if he was being honest, Lance’s mind was elsewhere. 

 

He thought about the sky, and how the only thing between him and the stars was a cement ceiling. He thought that if he could find a way to get up there, he could dig his nails in between the fissures and pull the ceiling apart, opening the room up to an expanse of glitter in a bath of black paint. He thought about the way a star would feel if you could you swim in the sky and pluck one out to rub in between your fingers. Not a real, star, of course. It would probably be too hot. But he thought that a star from that far away, if it stayed true to the size from Earth, would feel like a crumb of stale cornbread.  

 

And then Hunk’s face was over him, looking at Lance like he owed him something, and Lance realized he must have asked a question. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I said, what are you looking at?” Hunk repeated, bringing his eyebrows to meet in the middle of his forehead. 

 

“The stars.” Lance responded in a daze. 

 

Hunk was blatantly confused, but after 15 years of friendship, he knew when he shouldn’t ask. “You seem exhausted.” 

 

Lance moved his eyes to Hunk, feeling like he speaking to him was through a sheet of glass. “I’m not.” 

 

“Why don’t we skip the movie and just hit the hay?” Hunk said, in his ‘I may be phrasing this in the form of a question but I’m your coach and you don’t really have a say’ voice. 

 

But Lance wasn’t bothered, because a movie seemed pale in comparison to the celestials right outside of his window. He decided to wait until the lights were off and Hunk’s breathing had turned steady to sneak out, throwing on ten more layers atop his pajamas. 

 

And when he got outside and saw the shift of the ski lift as it was occupied by a boy with a mullet, he told himself that he was really only here for the stars, and his newfound friend was just an added bonus. 

 

Lance picked up his pace to slide into a chair before Keith stopped it, slipping the bar over his head and leaning against it. He tilted his head up to the black varnish above, speckled with constellations that Lance wasn’t familiar with. Like everything else here, it was close to home, but not quite. 

 

The lift halted suddenly, Lance’s seat swaying in the built up momentum. He frowned. Keith must have stopped it. 

 

“Uh,  _ hello _ ?” Lance called out, voice bridging between a yell and a furious whisper, waffling with what direction to go in. On one hand he had to yell so Keith could hear him from the top of the lift, but on the other hand he couldn’t cause too much commotion in fear of getting caught. 

 

Lance sat there chewing at the starchy inside of his cheek, pondering the best course of action. It didn’t take him very long to decide that he he was out of options, and opened his mouth to scream. 

 

“Keith! Keeeeeeeeith!” Lance let out. “KEITH. Turn on th--TURN ON THE SKI LIFT.”

 

He continued like that for a solid thirty seconds until he heard the rev of a motor and the line resumed pulling him up the mountain. 

 

When he got to the top, Keith was waiting there, hand on the controls and watching Lance with bug eyes. He then continued to watch him skid off the lift and lose control and veer headfirst into a snowbank. 

 

It tasted numb and felt like daggers in his face, prickling at his pores and corroding his skin cells. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

 

When he finally mustered up enough energy to lift his weak face from the snow, he saw Keith crouched down next to him. He had this painful expression on his face that was a mix of losing your keys and having to shit. 

 

“Are you okay?” He asked, voice cracking from worry in a way that tugged at Lance’s hyperborean chest. 

 

Lance’s face cracked into an anesthetized grin which broke into a giggle, that only made Keith look more scared and more confused. Lance began rubbing the snow off his face with his glove while he laughed, 20% from embarrassment but the other 80% from the pure lunacy of the situation.

 

Eventually Keith caught on that it was okay to laugh too, and before long they were cracking up together, which left them bent in half and clutching their stomachs like idiots. Lance let himself listen to Keith’s laugh over his own. It was the kind of sound that was from someone who had sworn off laughing, but when they slipped up it sounded like a held breath finally being let out. 

 

It was just like that morning, only Lance was now in immense pain and steaming like liquid nitrogen. 

 

“How the hell did you manage that?” Keith said once they had calmed down. 

 

“I don’t know about  _ you _ , but usually get off lifts with skis on my feet.” Lance played up the sarcasm. 

 

Keith look unimpressed. “You’re the second best skier in the world. You think you would know how to get down a four foot hill without falling.” 

 

“Second best, huh?” Lance raised his eyebrows, smile spreading again like butter. “You just made a joke, didn’t you? That was a jab at me?” 

 

“What, are you mad?” Keith asked, worry creeping into his tone. 

 

“No, it’s funny.” Lance assured. “You’re funny.” 

 

Keith turned away from him, running his tongue over his lips. Lance took this as an opportunity and discretely move his right hand back to the snow bank, gripping a chunk in his hand. 

 

He chucked it at Keith’s face but missed when he turned back, half an inch from whacking him right in the ear. Keith didn’t seem to notice. Lance decided not to say anything. 

 

Keith stood and looked down at Lance like he was doing a comprehensive contextualized SAT reading. Then after a few seconds he extended a hand to him and helped him up. 

 

Lance brushed himself off like it made a difference on account of his current body temperature. He was shaking. 

 

“You’re shaking.” 

 

Lance nodded through the chattering of his teeth and followed Keith back to where they had sat the night before, right at the launch. They sat adjacent to one another, both facing west in an unspoken agreement. 

 

Hunk once told Lance that slalomists faced west naturally, something about the residual kinetic energy and magnetic polarity of an athletic genetic makeup. Though he hadn’t ever been instinctively aware of the way he was facing, once Hunk said that, he found himself checking his direction on the compass app. When he had nothing to do, he would open the application and discover his polarity, and before long he became aware without checking. He soon got into a habit of turning himself west inadvertently, desperate to maintain some disillusioned idea of what it meant to be a born-slalomer. One day Pidge saw him doing it and burst into laughter, calling Hunk on the phone and telling him she was impressed and owed him $20. 

 

They had made a bet on Lance’s gullibleness. Hunk won. 

 

Now he sat with his hands under his armpits, trembling in the cold, mulling over the story and wondering whether or not he should tell Keith the story. He decided against it, knowing that Keith thought Lance was enough of a fool already. 

 

Lance scooched closer to Keith, desperate for body heat. Keith’s body went rigid and Lance began mentally slapping himself for being so stupidly autocratic. 

 

“So why do you come up here?” Lance asked, desperate to mask the awkwardness. 

 

“Like I said, it’s quiet.” Keith said plainly. “It’s nice being alone.” 

 

Lance nodded, humming through the vibration and making himself feel like a woodchuck. Keith’s eyes flashed to Lance’s teeth. 

 

“Do you want to leave?” 

 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

 

“No.” 

 

They went back to silence, facing their separate ways. 

 

“I like being  _ alone _ .” Keith said suddenly. 

 

Lance looked back at him, wondering if this was an implication that he  _ did _ want him to leave.  

 

“I don’t like being  _ lonely _ .” 

 

Lance nodded, somehow understanding what he meant. He liked when Keith talked about himself. He actually felt human. Less like a robot trained to respond shortly and only when spoken to. Lance decided to push it further, probing another question. “Do you think being on the slopes is lonely?” 

 

Keith thought for a second. “No.” 

 

“I do.” Lance contradicted. “It’s like you rack up so much time with your coaches and your trainers and your strategies...but once you actually get out there...you’re on your own.” 

 

“The lonely part is training.” Keith negated. “There’s all this worry, and build-up, and expectations. It’s so cold and impersonal, the only time I actually feel happy and...myself is on the slope.” 

“You need better coaches, then.” Lance tried to say it without pity, but he was sure that Keith could read it on his frostbitten face. When he put it like that, their lives sounded miserable. Lance never felt like that. 

 

Keith let out a pained chuckle and nodded in agreement, and now Lance was begging his brain to come up with a new topic, even if he had to do all the talking.

 

“Why don’t you have a Japanese accent?” Of course, Lance had to say the first thing that came into mind.

 

Keith didn’t seem bothered though, and it was obvious through his posture that he was becoming less uptight and closed off. “I grew up in Nevada learning Japanese and English at the same time.” 

 

“You’re  _ American _ ?” 

 

“I have dual citizenship.” Keith corrected. 

 

“How did you get into slalom in  _ Nevada _ ?” Lance gasped. “Were you a  _ sand-skier? _ ” 

 

“What? No.” Keith said quickly. “That’s a Peruvian thing. The dunes aren’t big enough in Nevada.” 

 

“Lemme guess, _Wii_ _Fit: ‘_ Ski Slalom’.” Lance said, digging his nose into his scarf. “Though it doesn’t really translate, every slalomist I’ve ever known can’t play that shit for their lives...” 

 

“No,” Keith sighed. “I was a sporty kid, my parents wanted me to be an athlete. My track coach said I was a lost cause and would probably be better had skiing than running.” 

 

“How would they--?” 

 

“She said it as a  _ joke _ , because we lived in  _ Nevada _ . But my parents take everything seriously, and we moved to Colorado within a week.” 

 

“Colorado!” Lance exclaimed, sitting up. “That’s where I live!” 

 

“Well, I only lived there for a month until my parents realized that I was never going to be able to compete with American skiers, so they took it as a chance to move back to Japan. Less people wanted to ski there, even less wanted to slalom. The best trainers in the Eastern Hemisphere were at my disposal because of my parents’ financial status. I moved up quickly, and the rest is history.” 

 

“Wow.” Lance said. He was happy to be getting this much out of him. “I wish my origin story was as cool as that.” 

 

“Lemme guess, everyone else did it, so you did too?” 

 

Lance nodded. “My whole family skis. I was doing black diamonds before I could  _ walk _ .” 

 

Keith looked skeptical. 

 

“But I’m one of seven, so my parents never had enough money to put me in nice classes with fancy trainers and move me around the world to maximize my potential. Skiing was my dream, though. I mean, I could never see myself doing anything else. It was all I knew. So my best friend and I took it upon ourselves to learn everything there is to know about it. We’d print out hundreds of pages of articles and go through three highlighters a day, each. We’d watch youtube videos of skiers for hours at 0.2 speed so I could match their technique. We’d go to the mountain just to take notes on what made the best people there successful.” 

 

“Hunk, right? Your coach now?” 

 

Lance nodded. “I know what you’re thinking though: I forced him into it.” 

 

“No,” Keith paused for dramatic effect. “I was thinking you were abusing his loyalty for your own personal gain.” 

 

Lance blinked. Keith snorted. 

 

“You’re a piece of work.” Lance scoffed. He liked Funny Keith. “He wanted to ski too, but he has bad asthma and his Mom wouldn’t allow it. Coaching was the next best thing.”

 

“But why slalom?” Keith wondered. 

 

Lance gave a dry chuckle. “I was trying to impress a girl.” 

 

Keith squinted. 

 

“Don’t give me that look!” Lance playfully shoved Keith’s shoulder, suddenly aware of how close they were still sitting. “There was some event going on and they had a certain slope roped off after it because the flags were still up. She was all like ‘I bet you wouldn’t go under that rope and do the slalom run’ and I was like ‘Fucking bite me’, and...the rest is history.” 

 

“That’s not a complete story. The rest is certainly not history.” Keith deadpanned. “Did you do it?” 

 

“I made it down to the bottom.” Lance said, pausing. “By falling, and missing all of the posts except one.” 

 

Keith burst into laughter. “What did your girlfriend say?” 

 

“Oh, she hadn’t been my girlfriend,” Lance dismissed. “And after that, she was certainly not about to become it.” 

 

They both laughed themselves into silence, and Lance imagined Keith sand-skiing while Keith pictured Lance rolling down a hill. 

 

“Speaking of,” Keith said much more quietly. “Akari’s not my mine.” 

 

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Your--?” 

 

“Girlfriend.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“She’s my sister.” Keith followed up. 

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Half?” Lance wondered. 

 

“From my Dad’s affair.” 

 

Lance didn’t know what to say so he just kept nodding until his neck hurt. 

 

He bit his cheek. Keith bit his tongue. 

 

“You know what’s weird?” Lance asked after a beat of silence. 

 

“Hm?” 

 

“I’ve been studying your technique and watching clips and interviews of you for months and I didn’t know any of that.” 

 

“Me neither.” Keith hummed. “About you, you know.” 

 

“It’s like, I know Slalom Keith, but I don’t know  _ Keith _ .”

 

“Pretty sure we’re the same person.” 

 

“No, you’re not.” Lance said matter-of-factly. “Slalom Lance isn’t Lance either.” 

 

“I told you, though. I’m only truly myself on the slopes.” 

 

“I don’t think that’s you, though.” Lance shook his head. “I think that’s who you  _ think _ you are, but that’s not who you actually are.” 

 

Lance let the thought resonate and shift through the air, floating off the launch and down the mountain, scattering into the wind until he forgot what it sounded like. He knew what he said though, and after awhile he was starting to wonder if he said too much, again.

 

“Does a Keith really exist then?” Keith said finally, voice small like a child. 

 

“I don’t know.” Lance said candidly. “But this Keith is certainly different then the one they make you out to be on cameras.” 

 

Keith nodded slowly, turning away as a breeze rode by, carrying up granules like a sandstorm. 

 

Lance thought about the succession of events that led him here. He thought about sitting on the launch of a mountain, touching shoulders with his supposed rival, talking like old-friends. He thought about the stars, and how they were the reason he came, and he thought about how he had barely looked at them at all. He thought about the invisible force that drove him up the mountain, and he thought about the reaction of everyone in the athletic community if they found out Lance and Keith were sort of becoming friends. 

 

“I can’t believe I fell in a snowbank.” Was the only thought Lance’s brain could materialize into words. 

 

“No, Lance.” Keith responded smoothly. “You  _ catapulted _ yourself into a snowbank.” 

 

Lance snickered. “Fuck off.” 

 

“And then you tried to hit the ‘ _ No Trespassing _ ’ sign on the back of the lift control with a snowball but missed  _ terribly _ .” 

 

Lance scoffed, staring at him bewildered. “Are you joking?” 

 

“What?” Keith asked innocently with a knowingly devious smile. 

 

“I was trying to hit y--” 

 

Lance’s words were cut off by a blow to the face, cold and hard and unexpected, snow dripping down his cheeks like sub-zero sweat. 

 

“ _ Heh _ , like that?” Keith said in a low voice. 

 

Lance buried his face in his scarf and shrieked, skin singed. Keith’s liberated cacchination reverberated through the concave tent. Lance couldn’t help but smile up at him, tempted to ask if he had ever laughed before today.

 

“Great, now I’m shaking again,” Lance said in feigned exasperation, suddenly aware that he hadn’t been for a few minutes. “You totally got me.” 

 

Keith gave a satisfied smile and crossed his arms, leaning back as his eyes whispered something to the stars. 

 

Lance let out a yawn, much louder than expected, and when his chest released he was filled with a warm reminder of how truly exhausted he was. The cold wasn’t helping either, especially now that his scarf was soaked. “Alright, I’m going back. I’m gonna die of hypothermia otherwise.” 

 

Keith smiled and nodded.

 

As Lance stood up and turned away, guilt and regret washed over him. He felt that there was no real way to guarantee that this was ever going to happen again, this little meeting, unless he asked Keith. But as the snow compacted underneath his boots and he let his mouth fall open in preparation, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

 

He looked back and Keith was watching him leave, eyes doused in a glaze from the moon that managed to make the words fall out anyway. 

 

“You know, I’d really like to learn how to go down a lift hill without skis sometime.” 

 

Keith sat up a bit, and Lance could see him stumbling through responses in his head before landing on “How about tomorrow night?” 

 

Lance nodded and pivoted back around, fervor building in his chest like a turbulent wave. 


	10. Lucida Sidera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> before you get mad at me for skipping J in the alphabetical chapters--J isn't in the Latin Language so suck my ass

The next morning came too quickly, light streaming in through the curtains by the time Lance had snuck back into his room. Sleeping was a blink of unconsciousness, and then Hunk was waking him up and Lance was wishing he just had an alarm. But he didn’t regret the night before, nor was his head swimming in fatigue. His body reflected his late night, but the dull content pulsing in his skull made up for it.

 

He planned to go get breakfast and maybe catch Keith there. Part of him wanted to invite Hunk, because why shouldn’t he? But there was something about Keith that felt like a secret. He felt fragile, and Lance was afraid to push him too far. And of course, though he would never admit it, there was a part of Lance that wanted Keith all to himself. But he was just selfish like that.

 

When Lance got there Keith wasn’t around, and Lance shrugged off the feeling of disappointment. He would see him later, if Keith didn’t forget, and he knew he wouldn't. Besides, they had donuts on the wall and he knew Hunk would want one. Spending the morning with him would be nice.

 

He got his usual, an apple, and a _Krispy Kreme_ for Hunk. He would be happy.

 

When he reached the register, a hand reached out in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. He turned his head to see Keith, standing there semi-awkwardly, looking past Lance and at the cashier.

 

“Put it on my tab.”

 

Lance grinned.

 

* * *

 

“1:10:01” Hunk held up a stopwatch to Lance’s face once his goggles were up.

 

“Hm. Not my best.” Lance shrugged it off, thinking it was merely a lull in his excellence. The wind had picked up again, and Lance could feel it yanking him in awkward positions when he had descended. The sun was shining and it was the kind of sun that seeped in through your clothing and set in your skin, even when it was freezing out.

 

“You need to keep a steady pace. If you fluctuate in momentum in some places and lack in others, you’ll lose your stamina...”

 

Lance was nodding, watching Hunk’s mouth move up and down, side to side, words coming out until it started sounding like a garbled mess of syllables. Then he started thinking about nodding, and who came up with nodding, and why it is a universal sign of acknowledgment. What if someone decided that nodding means no and _shaking your head_ means yes? Well then, we wouldn’t know anything different, so it wouldn’t be weird for us.

 

Okay, so Lance was a little distracted today.

 

Maybe it was the full moon. There was going to be a full moon tonight. Lance wondered how he knew that. He thought he saw it on twitter. Why was someone tweeting about that? Was he a werewolf?

 

“Lance.”

 

Hunk was looking at him with this disturbed look on this face that compelled Lance to wipe off the drool that was pooling out of his mouth.

 

“Where are you today?”

 

“I don’t know.” Lance responded with just as much curiosity. “I genuinely have no idea.”

 

“Okay, well.” Hunk sighed. “Get your head out of the clouds.”

 

Lance threw him the finger guns, but wasn’t able to punctuate the end of his movement because his gaze was drawn out to the top of the mountain where Keith was speeding down. From here he looked even tinier than he felt up close, like a figurine perched on a Christmas diorama. But Lance could tell it was him instantly, by the way he twisted himself and his skis, weaving in and and out of blue and red flags as easy as breath.

 

He had a kind of fluidity with him, that poked through with jagged edges when he switched directions, a methodical kind of chaos that drew you in. ‘You’ being Lance, because he stood with stiff captivation, eyes unable to move from the path of Keith’s run. No one skied like Keith.

 

For so long he saw it with envy, for so long he watched his runs with a sense of antagonism that brought out the worst in Lance. It tugged at his sanity and made his shoulders shake with anxiety before. Before, he was merely a competitor whose movements were something to beat, something to idolize with malice, something to hate. But now, there was nothing there. Now that he had found a friend in Keith, he could watch him and appreciate how damn good of a skier he was.

         

 _Is that what he is to me now? A friend?_ He thought as Keith circled the finish, body enlarged to actuality. He wanted to believe so, but Lance was also the kind of person who could never really surmise where he stood with anyone. Did Keith think of them as friends? In reality, it had only been a few days, but Kogane was the only person he had connected with, aside from the ones he brought from home.

 

He was approaching Lance now, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his jagged locks.

 

“Hey, Lance.”

 

It was so quiet and quick, he would have missed it if he wasn’t coveting it. Still, it surprised him to the point where he was unable to stutter out a response in time before Keith had walked past him, heading into the lodge with his coach. When Lance turned his head to watch him go, he saw Keith peek back over his shoulder with smirk, and Lance shook his head, grinning back.

 

Ah, yet another puzzle piece version of Keith that Lance was discovering. Snide Keith. He liked it, he decided.

 

“Lance.” Hunk grabbed him by the collar. “C’mon, buddy!”

 

“Sorry.” Lance muttered, turning his attention away to slide over to the lift. It looked paler in the daylight, a little duller, maybe.

 

“Head. Out of. Your Ass.” Hunk pulled him back in.

 

“I thought it was in the clouds?”

“Whatever.”


	11. Mirabile Visu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its been so long y'all! bare with me!

Lance thought he heard Hunk stir when he was pulling on his turtleneck, darkness stretching across the room that Lance was afraid to disturb. So he put on his turtleneck in the dark, presumably backwards, stubbing his toe into a chair and erupting in a silent yelp. Yes, Hunk was definitely stirring, and as heavy of a sleeper he was, he wasn’t trying to get caught. 

 

He had to remind himself why he felt like it was necessary to sneak around, but he hated the fact that he had to. Hunk and Lance shared everything, for as long as he could remember. But it really wasn’t that big of a deal, and if Hunk found out it wouldn’t really be the end of the world. He just probably shouldn’t be up this late. 

 

He slinked out with double the layers and a tiny smile creeping onto his face. Maybe it was just the thrill of rebellion and being secretive. He felt incredibly stupid. 

 

“Lance?” He heard a voice behind him, and he froze in place. Pidge. 

 

He fixed a smile on his face as he turned around. “Heyyyyyy Pidddgeeee!” 

 

She was in full gear, bags under her eyes, giving Lance a dubious look. “Hi?” 

 

“What are you doing up?” 

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Her voice had an upturn at the ends that clipped it like question. 

 

“I’m going to the…vending machine…” Lance said slowly, and extremely unconvincingly. 

 

“In ten layers and your winter coat?” Pidge pursed her lips into a cheeky smile. 

 

Lance folded his arms. “Well, where are you going?” 

 

Her smile fell. She looked away. “I’m going to train.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“They revoked my scheduling and reserving privileges. I can only practice when the track happens to be free which is...now…” 

 

“Because you don’t have a coach?”

 

She nodded. Lance dropped his shoulders. “I’m going up to the slopes.” 

 

For some reason Pidge didn’t question him, even though she knew very well that he wasn’t dressed for skiing nor planning to do anything like that. She just nodded again, and then gave a small smile. “You want me to walk you?” 

 

And so they walked together, semi-silently, heading out towards the slopes which lead near the skeleton track. Pidge didn’t probe him about what exactly he was doing, and Lance didn’t bug her about the poor judgement of firing her coach. Sure, it was badass. But it was also extremely idiotic. Still, he wasn’t going to say anything. 

 

When they reached the bottom of the lift, Pidge stopped Lance before he could turn away. “Lance.” He looked back expectantly. “Don’t be stupid, okay?” 

 

He nodded, not quite sure what she had been referring to, but nodded anyway. 

 

By the time she had let him go and left, Lance realized the lift was moving, and it wasn’t long before he saw Keith, coming down on a chair. He hopped off and was making his way back into the lodge slowly. 

 

“Wait!” Lance jogged out to him and grabbed his shoulder. “Keith,” 

 

Keith let out a gasp and turned around, eyes brimming with panic. When he saw it was Lance, his eyes fluttered and the tension melted away. “Jesus Christ, you scared me.” 

 

“Sorry,” Lance murmured, drawing his hand away to rub the back of his neck. 

 

“You’re late.” 

 

“I didn’t think we had a time.” 

 

“Yeah, but you’re late.” Keith said monotonously as they turned back towards the lift. “I thought you weren’t gonna come.” 

 

“I said I would, and I’m here, Mullet.” 

 

“Mullet?” 

 

“Mullet!” 

 

They both sat on the lift as it continued to revolve around the post, and then they were squished with dangling feet against the current of the wind. They were pulled up slowly, and Lance couldn’t keep his eyes open because of the wind. 

 

“It’s so windy!” Lance said, bracing himself against the guard rail and yelling so Keith could hear. 

 

“I know!” 

 

The air blew them precariously, rocking the seat back and forth and high angles. They gripped onto the bar tightly, and Lance felt his stomach churn. When they got closer to the top, Keith pushed up the bar and began to stand up. 

 

“Wait, wait! Keith!” 

 

He slid off gracefully, angling his feet and slowing down with impeccable balance. He turned back calmly and then saw Lance’s alarmed expression and mouthed something like  _ Oh shit  _ and ran forward as Lance tried to mimic the movement, barrelling down the hill and crashing into Keith. 

 

Lance attempted to untangle his limbs from Keith, trying to pull back. The wind had changed drastically and it was becoming more and more difficult to get up. His knees were digging into the snow on either side of Keith and he was pretty sure he had elbowed him in the face. Lance looked up, and he was clutching his nose.

 

“Shit, Keith! Are you okay?” He called, using all of his strength to pull him up and lead them over to the launch. 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith said once the orange walls had blocked them in. He pulled his fingers from his nose to reveal a string of blood, and Lance groaned. 

 

“Why didn’t you move?” 

 

“I thought you were going to fall!” 

 

“You’re so stupid.” Lance shook his head, pulling off his scarf and extending it to Keith. 

 

“What?” He said dully. 

 

“Take it.” Lance waved it in front of him. 

 

“I’m fine.” Keith grumbled, wiping off his nose with the back of his glove. It stained red.

 

“Keith, I just punched you in the nose with my elbow and now its spouting blood.” Lance reminded. “Take the damn scarf.” 

 

Keith didn’t look at him, attempting to sop up his nose with his bare hand now. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Lance leaned forward and balled up his scarf into a point around his index finger, dabbing it lightly over the cleft above his lip. Then he grabbed Keith’s right hand and put it on the scarf, pressing it to his nose and holding it there. Keith was arthritic under his touch. 

 

Lance pulled back. “There.” 

 

Keith looked at him squarely with narrowed eyes. “Thanks.” 

 

Lance nodded and then it was silence, wind curling around the tent like breeze against a beach umbrella. Only it was 10 degrees, and it was slightly terrifying to be so high up and so secluded. 

 

“How do you go down so smoothly?” 

 

“I told you I would teach you.” Keith admonished, voice muffled under the scarf.  “Just, give me a sec.” 

 

“No rush.” Lance said simply, zipping up his jacket and casting his eyes out to the dip in the mountain. 

 

He remembered the simultaneous anxiety and excitement this sight would cause him when he was a kid. Of course he was used to it, but there was a certain eeriness to standing atop a hill and seeing how steep it was. It was like a drop off in an ocean, where you could suddenly stand and then you just couldn’t, even if you were on your tiptoes. You saw the curve of the mountain, but nothing else. In reality, it wasn’t as steep as it seemed, it was merely your perspective from where you were standing. But Lance was always afraid of it. It took him awhile not to be afraid of it, even if it was the only thing he had ever known. Even if he had been riding those hills since birth. 

 

Part of excitement was fear. Part of passion was terror. If you weren’t afraid of something, it probably wasn’t important enough. Everything that matters is scary. 

 

“Shit.” He heard a whisper from Keith, who was pulling the scarf from his nose and looking down at his shirt, caked in dried blood. 

 

“Did it stop bleeding?” Lance asked. 

 

“Yeah.” Keith said, wiping the back of his nose with his hand. “I think.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“It’s okay.” He looked up at Lance. “Do you want your scarf back?” 

 

“Just wash it and give it back to me later.” 

 

Okay, Lance. Just going to assume there’s a later? 

 

But Keith nodded, and then stood up. “You ready?” 

 

“We don’t have to, it’s okay, I don’t want you getting hurt again.” 

 

Keith folded his arms. “Are you scared?” 

 

Lance scoffed incredulously. “It’s a four foot hill!” 

 

“Then why are you hesitating?” 

 

Lance stood up quickly, meeting Keith at his level. Actually, above his level since he had a few inches on him. “You’re a dick.” 

 

Keith’s mouth leaned into a smirk, which prompted a dimple on the top left corner of his cheek. Lance suppressed an urge to poke it. 

 

They moved back out to the lift where luckily the wind had died down. Keith led Lance up to the top by the control shack, pulling him into a seat that had rested idly right above the hill. 

 

“Okay.” Keith said flatly. “The trick is to forget everything you know about skiing.” 

 

“Nice try, Kogane.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Face the facts, buddy! I’m gonna kick your ass on Tuesday.” 

 

His eyes flickered into understanding and his face dropped. Lance cackled. “What I’m saying is, instead of keeping your weight forward to draw up momentum, you have to put it back on your heels.” 

 

“What? That’s crazy talk.” 

 

“You’re not wearing skis. You can’t lean forward, there’s nothing to catch you.” 

 

Lance still looked skeptical. Keith rolled his eyes and reached down in a quick moment, pulling Lance’s right leg up to fold in between them. He pointed at the bottom of his boot. 

 

“Look at the surface area of the balls of your feet--” He traced the stem of Lance’s toe area with his glove. “--compared to the heel.” He dragged his finger down to the bottom, running it along the edge of Lance’s boot. “If you distribute your weight on the heel, you have more surface area to trust.” 

 

Lance guessed it made sense. He nodded and looked down at his boot, cradled partly on Keith’s thigh and partly on his own. Keith cleared his throat quietly, extending his legs and anchoring on to the side of the chair so he wouldn’t slide down immediately. “Watch carefully.” 

 

He let the chair go, and Lance watched as he moved slickly, weight back and arms prone at his sides. He came to a slow stop at the bottom of the hill, turning around to look back at Lance. “Okay, your turn.” 

 

Lance nodded again, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and super serious. What if Keith thought he was an idiot? He sure seemed like one every time he fell down this hill. He was a good skier, and he wanted to prove that to Keith. But then he reminded himself that Keith already knew damn well how good Lance was, and he didn’t need to prove anything. It was a stupid lift hill, for God’s sake. 

 

So he pushed off, leaning back slightly into his heels, and coming down slowly and jaggedly, losing his balance towards the end and flailing out, right into Keith’s arms. Luckily, he didn’t push him over this time. Keith seemed prepared for that. His hands clasped Lance’s biceps and he could see him forcing down a grin. “Okay, better.” 

 

They went back up and Keith stood up immediately. “Your timing is just a little off. You need to flex later. Once you get three-fourths of the way down the hill you should extend your legs. But until then you need to bend.” 

 

“Why do you know so much about skiing without skis?” Lance wondered.

 

“This is how my first coach taught me, actually.” Keith said, looking out to the hill. “I fell down about a hundred times and it was the most frustrating. But by the time I put on skis I was so good at balancing.” 

 

“So it’s like warming up before you’re up to bat with two bats.” 

 

Keith raised an eyebrow.

 

“Like in baseball, so that you’re used to swinging heavier objects before you’re up, and then when you’re only swinging with one bat it feels lighter and easier.” 

 

“Sure?” 

 

_ Keith doesn’t like baseball. Got it. _ Lance made a note to himself. 

 

“Okay, watch my legs.” 

 

Lance looked down and followed Keith’s legs and their movement as he went down the hill. Okay, Keith had great legs. Like, objectively great. They were long like Lance’s, but thinner at the thighs and more rounded at the calves. And Lance could appreciate some good legs. They looked sturdy, but not in the way that was terrifying. He would probably look really good in joggers. Or maybe some worn black jeans with frayed holes in the knees. Lance wondered if he ever wore jeans in his life. Or a big sweatshirt. Lance couldn’t stop thinking about Keith in a big big blue sweatshirt and he felt like an idiot. 

 

“Lance? You ready?” 

 

Lance nodded again, pulling his eyes to meet Keith’s face. Something flashed through his expression that if Lance had another moment to see, he could probably read it. He pushed off the chair and kept his weight back, extending only as he got to the end. He was still a little wobbly, but he didn’t fall, and he didn’t need Keith’s help to stay upright. 

 

“Better,” Keith said. He even sounded a little excited. “But this time--” 

 

“Keith,” Lance stopped him. “I’m exhausted. Can we just chill?” 

 

“Oh.” Keith dropped his shoulders. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

 

“No, thanks for helping me. It’s just late, you know.” 

 

“Do you want to leave?” Keith asked. 

 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

 

Keith smiled. Lance smiled back. 


	12. Nemo Nisi Per Amicitiam Cognoscitur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lance's favorite album](https://open.spotify.com/album/0HrAEwPOV0brDG0wvTWXUB)   
>  [lance's favorite song](https://open.spotify.com/track/6SpLNCSAXgeQKTgQ8oF9C5)   
>  [keith's favorite album](https://open.spotify.com/album/3i67sGIVw8EBlgfSRv3Lj2)   
>  [keith's favorite song](https://open.spotify.com/track/6BGu9IJlUza0h7YrTWElnD)

After that night, their mountain meetings started to become a regular thing. At first, Lance was hesitant to assume that Keith would be there when he reached the top, but after a while the thought of Keith not perched on the launch when arrived with stars welling in his eyes was ludicrous. There was a sort of unspoken agreement between them, and they both knew that they needed this. Sometimes it was nice to meet and not have to think about everything going on around them. Sometimes it was nice to have a space without the cameras and the pressure and the commercialized construction of the whole thing. There were nights where they didn’t even talk, they just sat with arms draped over knees looking out above. Their silence became comfortable. Those nights weren’t as frequent as the ones where they talked the whole time, though. Lance once asked Keith if he felt as though Lance was intruding on his quiet place, but Keith told him he made it better. And Lance would be damned if he didn’t blush at that, because who wouldn’t?

 

They would sit and talk and whisper facts like they were fiction and universal truths like they were their world’s secrets. Lance realized that he never quite had someone like Keith before. There was a different tone in their conversations, something that was missing when he talked to Hunk and Pidge. Keith didn’t sugar coat things or mask a truth behind an auxiliary compliment. He wasn’t afraid to say what he believed, even if it was not necessarily polite. And a part of Lance indulged in that. He never realized how much he actually wanted honesty. Candidacy made the compliments mean that much more when they were sparingly provided.  

 

“What kind of music do listen to on the slopes?” Lance asked abruptly one night. He had noticed that Keith always wore little ear buds when he trained, and Lance became more and more curious as time went on, but wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask. Keith seemed like the person that made their music a personal thing. 

 

Keith thought for a moment, and then responded plainly. “Jazz.” 

 

“Jazz?” 

 

“Jazz.” 

 

Lance tried not to act too shocked. It just wasn’t what he expected. “Huh.” 

 

“Huh?” Keith narrowed his eyes. 

 

“I would take you more for a heavy metal guy.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth he realized how stupid they were. Keith only smirked. 

 

“It’s because of the hair, isn’t it?” He asked. “You think I listen to  _ Metallica _ ?” 

 

“I was thinking more along the lines of  _ Panic! At The Disco _ …” Lance stated. 

 

“They are  _ not _ heavy metal!” 

 

“How would  _ you _ know that?” 

 

“‘Cause I’m not an idiot!” 

 

“You listen to  _ Jazz _ .” Lance teased. 

 

Keith gasped. “You’re an asshole! Jazz is amazing!” He paused. “What do  _ you _ listen to?” 

 

Lance crossed his arms defiantly, sticking his nose to the sky. “Indie electropop.” 

 

Keith tilted his body with a pinched look. “ _ Indie electropop _ .”

 

“Yes, what about it?” 

 

“You’re making fun of me for listening to  _ Jazz _ , and your genre is  _ Indie electropop _ .” A shit eating smug blossomed on his face. 

 

“Do you have a problem with that?”

 

“Yes!  _ In fact, _ I do!” Keith cried, flinging his arms in the air.

 

“Indie Electropop is a cultured genre that brings introspection and emotion into catchy lyricism!” 

 

“And Jazz is just a bunch of boring horns?” Keith said. 

 

“I never said that.” 

 

“Who’s your favorite artist? _The_ _Chainsmokers_?” 

 

“How uncultured do you think I am?” Lance scoffed. “It’s  _ Broods _ .” 

 

“Never heard of them.” 

 

So the next night Lance brought his bluetooth speaker and played through  _ Evergreen _ while staring off down the mountain and humming along, letting himself seep into  Georgia Josiena Nott’s sleek and seductive voice. Keith was polite in silence, and even if he didn’t like it, Lance could tell he was listening.

 

Once they finished  _ Never Gonna Change _ , he spoke up. 

 

“Do you usually listen to female vocalists?” 

 

“Almost always.” Lance nodded, and then looked back at Keith. “Why?” 

 

Keith shrugged. “Just wondering.” 

 

“Wanna hear my favorite song?” Lance grinned, and Keith nodded without a glimmer of hesitation. 

 

Lance scrolled to his Ls and put on  _ Urges _ by Lastings. He closed his eyes and wrapped himself with the little background shrills and dark harmonies. It was a great night song. 

 

_ Why are you afraid?  _

_ Why don’t you wanna save me?  _

_ Push me far away  _

_ Now you’ve got me, disappear _

 

“ _ And I’m waiting, I’m waiting on you... _ ” Lance sang an octave lower, feeling a little self-conscious but shoving it down. He peeked open his eyes to see Keith’s foot tapping along with the beat. Lance smiled to himself. 

 

“So?” He said as the song ended. 

 

“I liked it.” Keith said admittedly. 

 

“You  _ loved _ it!” 

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Give me your phone, I’ll play you some  _ real _ music.” 

 

Lance relinquished control over to Keith, who held the phone close to his face and searched something up quickly. 

 

“Louis Armstrong?” Lance raised an eyebrow as he handed the phone back. It started off slow with a light drum and the crescendo of a piano, mixed with the sugary blare of horns. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Oh, I know this one!” Lance yelled. “ _ I see trees of green _ ….” 

 

“No.” 

 

“It’s called….mm….oh!  _ What A Wonderful World! _ ”

 

“No, shh.” Keith scolded. 

 

Lance fell silent and listened as the horn came into prominence, a trumpet melody with short phrases and riffs that reminded Lance of his grandmother and ceramic flower pots. It was surprisingly mellow and tooth-achingly sweet. Sort of nostalgic, too. As it built to the vocals, the piano and strings came in, giving it an imbued sound that tugged at Lance’s chest and sent shivers through his jacket. He clutched his hands to his chest. 

 

_ Hold me close and hold me fast _

_ The magic spell you cast _

_ This is la vie en rose _

 

_ When you kiss me heaven sighs _

_ And though I close my eyes _

_ I see la vie en rose _

 

The voice was deep and guttural, the exact opposite of anything Lance ever listened to. Yet it was astoundingly beautiful, and perfectly balanced with the soprano of the instruments. It sounded like  _ Jazz _ , there was no doubt about it. But not what Lance thought of when he thought of Jazz. It was so effortless and loving, completely polarized with what Lance would have ever expected out of  _ Keith Kogane _ . He was staring at Lance’s face intently as it played, searching for something. 

 

_ When you press me to your heart _

_ I'm in a world apart _

_ A world where roses bloom _

 

_ And when you speak _

_ Angels sing from above _

_ Everyday words seem _

_ To turn into love songs _

 

_ Give your heart and soul to me _

_ And life will always be  _

_ La vie en rose _

 

And then the music started to build, in a slow but marvellous turn of events that floored Lance to his seat. He clutched his jacket, and became part of the trumpet as it sang with the crystalline quality of Windexed glass. He was holding his breath as the last note came and the other instruments boomed through the button. 

 

When it was over, Lance missed it dearly and sat in the emptiness of the moment as it rang in his ears like a fond memory. 

 

“Are you crying?” Keith asked. 

 

Lance furrowed his brow but the movement dropped tears into his lap, and he suddenly realized the dampness of his eyes and the blurriness of his vision. He wiped his face furiously with the back of his sleeve, ears heating up. 

 

“I’m guessing you liked it.” 

 

Lance just nodded. 

  
  


Every night Keith loosened up a little bit more. Every night a little inch of tension was released from his body, and every night he felt a little less up-tight. His words were building up and thoughts coming out without worrying about them first. He let himself speak freely, and after a while he was instigating conversations and giving his opinions instead of clipped answers. It was nice. Sometimes they forgot how young they were, how much of their childhood they had wasted being serious athletes. They both could appreciate their moments of pure youth and reckless abandon, and Keith once told him that their nights were the first time he could embrace that. 

 

That night was filled with a particularly foolish and giddy Keith, one where Lance actually questioned his sobriety. 

 

Lance had arrived to the lift to find the key missing from the hole where it usually was by the time Lance got up there, because Keith had already put it in to start the machine. His eyebrows knit into his forehead and he went into the booth, digging around in the drawer to find it missing from there too. He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned around to go back inside, disappointment tugging at his chest. Maybe Keith lost it. Maybe it had fallen into the snow. Or maybe the heads knew about Keith and Lance’s nightly arrangement, and took the key away. 

 

But just as Lance was rounding the corner, Keith jumped out with the sole purpose of scaring the shit out of him. It worked, and Lance, who was terrified of jump scares or surprises of any kind shrieked and nearly collapsed into the snow. Keith burst into a fit of laughter as Lance fumed, embarrassment pricking his ears. “You dick!” 

 

“You should have seen your face!” Keith chuckled, wiping his eyes with his palm. 

 

“You know, I was actually sad there for a second.” 

 

“About what?” Keith asked as he turned the key and the lift revved into life. 

 

“I thought they found us out.” Lance breathed as they settled into a seat. 

 

“Never. We’re too careful.” 

 

Lance was skeptical, but Keith was the kind of person to do stupid, impulsive things and get away with it. He had no doubt that Keith covered all his tracks and made sure they wouldn’t get caught. 

 

“What would they do to us?” Lance wondered, tone comical but genuinely wondering. 

 

“Probably give us a slap on the hand and a ‘don’t do that again’.” Keith shrugged. “It’s not like coming up here is highly punishable. We’re not tampering with anything or doing extra training. Besides, they can’t afford to lose us.” 

 

Lance hummed in agreement and slinged his arms over the bar, looking down below them. The snow below them looked flat and gray. He watched Keith’s feet dangle, swinging back and forth like he tended to do. It was like a release of breath, a stutter from perfection, a little laxity in the composure of Keith Kogane. 

 

Those moments from Keith were his favorite, peppered in between the lines, and that night was clearly no exception when they reached the top and something struck Keith like a light bulb. Lance followed Keith behind a bush where he walked rather quickly, pulling something out from behind it. 

 

“I totally forgot I left these here!” He held up two cafeteria trays for Lance to see, eyes gleaming. 

 

“Uh…” 

 

“A few days ago I had a really stupid fucking idea, so before my run I grabbed these from the lunch room and put them up here.” 

 

“I’m not following.” Lance blinked. 

 

“We’re going to ride these down the mountain.” 

 

Lance scolded his ears for their probable deceit. “Come again?” 

 

“We’re going to ride these down the mountain!” 

 

“Are you crazy?” 

 

Keith tapped his chin in mock-rumination as he walked over to the launch, slipping under the guard bar. 

 

“Who are you, Keith Kogane?” Lance whispered, watching as the typically-tranquil boy grew giddy with the danger. He turned back to Lance. “Have you been drinking?” 

 

“No,” Keith dismissed, tugging at his coat. He paused, and then let out a little scoff. “I don’t know...I just feel...different.” He was smiling. That’s another thing Lance could get used to. Keith’s smiles. He had a great smile. Why did he hide it from the world so often? 

 

“Different in a good way?” Lance asked.

 

“Yeah.” Keith murmured. “Happy.” 

 

Lance settled into a warm grin, watching Keith’s expression melt into inhibition, a careless disregard for consequences as he grabbed Lance’s wrist and pulled him out in front of the launch. He wanted Keith to be happy. He ignored every red flag and plopped down on his ass, tugging his legs into his chest. Keith situated himself on his knees, hand still clasped around Lance’s wrist. 

 

“Wait, Keith.” Lance stopped his momentum, gaze pouring down the mountain. “This is so incredibly stupid.” 

 

Keith looked up reluctantly, then down at the juncture of their limbs. Slowly he shifted his hand, lacing his fingers in between Lance’s. His heartbeat was pounding through to Lance’s attention, as well as a dull vibration. Keith was shaking. He was just as scared as he was. This was so incredibly stupid. 

 

And then, in a split second, Keith was snatching his hand away and using it to push on Lance’s back. It wasn’t that hard, but even a little nudge would send a person flying at this angle. Lance immediately broke into scream as the wind picked up around him, pushing him through a tunnel of ice and snow, blurring his eyes shut and running his mouth dry. There were screams of pleasure behind him mixing with his own screams of genuine terror, but the whole thing was mostly corrupted by the harsh cyclone deluging around him. He was sure he was going to die. 

 

But he didn’t, and as the mountain evened out into a flat surface below, he stuck out his limbs in an effort to slow himself to a stop. It worked right before he hit into the orange branded gates. He collapsed back into the snow, chest heaving and heart pulsing through his skull. He was so thankful that the flags hadn’t been up on the course, or he would surely be dead. 

 

Keith came up after him with more velocity, smashing into the gates behind them. Lance shot up from his prone position, rushing over and grabbing his hunched shoulders. He looked pretty lifeless. Lance shook him, terrified. “Keith! Are you okay?!” 

 

His head came up slowly to meet Lance’s expression with a mischievous grin, looking like a smug toddler. Fury and relief pumped through Lance’s brain and in a quick movement he wrapped Keith up in his arms, pressing his head into his chest. Keith went stiff. 

 

“What the hell were you thinking? We could have been killed! That was so stupid!” He shook Keith lightly under him, trying to blink away the tears his dry eyes were exposed to from the wind. 

 

Keith softened a fraction, voice coming out guilty. “Yeah. It was.” 

 

Lance fell back into the snow again, gazing up into the sky. There was a big purplish cloud that hung over them, reminding Lance of some sort of nebula from space movies. Scattered in between its edges were luminous orbs of light that paced through the heavens like a map, a map that led to simultaneous discovery and ambivalence. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Keith whispered. Lance looked over to find that Keith had laid down too, the fur of his hood tickling Lance’s cheek. His hands were folded on his stomach and he didn’t look at Lance. 

 

Lance let out an easy sigh, looking back up. “It’s all good.” 

 

“Have you ever done something like that before?” Keith asked suddenly.

 

“That dangerously stupid? Hell no.” Lance chuckled. Then he thought a little more. “I rode a roller coaster when I was ten. I got a ticket once for speeding.” 

 

“I have never done either of those things.” Keith said flatly. Lance frowned. “I never had a chance for a childhood. This has always been my life.” He gestured to the mountain. 

 

“Mm.” Lance agreed. “While all my friends went out and got drunk at parties, I went to bed at nine so I could get up at the crack of dawn to train.” 

 

“Now I feel too old to do any of that stuff. I feel like a whole chunk of my life is missing.” Keith said breathily. 

 

“So that’s why you wanted to do that.” 

 

“Duh.” 

 

Lance snickered, chest bouncing. Keith sat still. “Hey, it’s  _ okay _ . It was fun.” 

 

“You sounded horrified.” 

 

“I was, but I had fun.” Lance said matter-of-factly. “What’s fun without a little terror?” 

 

Keith reached over and shoved his shoulder. Lance smiled lazily, letting his eyes flutter. He felt at peace, as opposed to how he felt a minute ago. 

 

“It’s also why I like coming up here with you.” Keith said. “I’m reminded that I’m not too old to be a stupid kid.” 

 

Lance felt heat brew in his chest. Keith’s moments of expressing emotion were rare, but when he said how he felt it was always straightforward.. He never felt the need to sugar coat how he felt or come at it in a backwards way. 

 

“You are a stupid kid.” Was the only thing Lance could reply with. This time Keith reached over to flick Lance’s in his forehead. They both laughed themselves into silence, feeling the quiet around them, sinking into serenity and the endless pit of stars above them. 

 

There were a lot of things that were different about Keith and Lance, but they both could agree on stargazing as their favorite activity. Keith knew a lot about constellations, and Lance knew a lot about astrology and horoscopes. As the nights went on Lance found himself getting more and more lost in the stars as they sat, feeling so tiny. If it wasn’t for Keith he felt he would get wisped away in it all, the inadequacy of the universe. 

 

They talked about feeling small, and feeling big, and feeling too important, and feeling not important enough. They talked about their plans for the future. They talked about having no idea what that even meant anymore. Lance talked about his family. Keith talked about lack thereof. 

 

“But you have a family.” Lance would remind him. 

 

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t.” Keith would jab back. “They’re so far away from me.” 

 

“I’m sure they just want the best for you.” 

 

“I don’t even think they love me.” 

 

In those moments, Lance would sit helplessly and watch his shoulders shake across the landing. All he could do listen to him weep. Lance didn’t think he had ever done much of that before either. But he didn’t try to console him or quiet him out of tears, even if his sorrow made Lance’s chest ache. People needed to feel. Keith needed to feel. Even if those feelings tore Lance apart along with him. 

 

Bags appeared under their hollow eyes in concave spaces--Lance would be lucky to get four hours of sleep. Keith said he got none. Keith was used to it, but Lance on the other hand was not. It showed in his run times and he could tell Hunk was getting a little annoyed. He would never say anything, but Pidge didn’t have any problem with telling him he looked like shit. 

  
There was a part of him that thought he  _ should _ worry that it would affect his performance on Tuesday, but for some reason he wasn’t nervous at all. This was the first time in awhile that he felt as though skiing wasn’t the only thing that mattered. There was a weight that came along with that belief, and it was so incredibly satisfying to have it off his shoulders.


	13. Obscuris Vera Involvens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is angsty and i can't write consistently

On Monday night Hunk had sent him to bed early, telling him to finish his shower by 9 and be asleep by 9:30. Lance was going to complain that his race wasn’t until 2pm the next day, but decided against it. Hunk just wanted Lance to succeed. He knew this.

 

So Lance had the lights out by 8:45 and was snuggled into his covers into a fake sleep when Hunk walked in. If he could see his face, he could imagine it would be full of satiated surprise. He got into his bed a few minutes later and then turned off the remaining light. Lance’s eyes flashed open and he tiptoed out, fully clothed under his sheets. There was always a flash of guilt as he closed the door behind him, but at this point he was used to the feeling. He made his way down the hallway, muscles moving him without thought while he felt frozen in fear. 

 

Okay, maybe he was a little nervous at this point. 

 

Everything he had ever trained for was culminating tomorrow, it all led up to this. There were so many people rooting for him at home. There were so many people with their eyes on him, waiting for him to fail and mess up while they placed bets and cheered and booed. Around the world it would be viewed and scrutinized. There was so much riding on these races, and Lance couldn’t help but feel like he should have been better. Maybe if he had trained more, slept more, ate better… 

 

And then there was the Keith Thing. The fact that they were now friends. The fact that they were head to head for gold. The fact that one of them was going to win and the other one wouldn’t. They hadn’t really brought up the subject much, but he knew that both of them were worried about it. The last thing Lance wanted was it to change their friendship, but part of him didn’t think it would. Their competitiveness was in their combined nature, and they both understood the stakes from the beginning.  

 

When Lance got outside he immediately noticed the stillness of everything. He put his hand up and felt no wind whatsoever, not even a slight breeze. For how the last few weeks had been, it was truly remarkable. The world seemed to be holding its breath, and Lance could definitely feel it as he sat into a lift chair. It was a bit unsettling, mostly because as sucky as the constant wind was, he had become accustomed to skiing in it. 

 

When he reached the top he slid down the lift hill effortlessly, catching sight of Keith who was still like the Earth, looking down at the slope of the mountain. He made his way over, slumping down next to him with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. 

 

“Hey, man.” 

 

Keith was quiet. Silence blew wind over them in the absence of the wind. 

 

“It’s so calm out tonight.” Lance remarked, twisting his hoodie string. “There’s like no breeze.” 

 

He looked over the horizon and saw an abyss of mountains that felt infinite, extending towards the curve of the world that would bring tears to a painter's eye. He thought about what it would be like to paint it--the stiff-cut mountains pressing against the lonely sky and reaching out for eternity. It would probably require lots of dark blues and grays, maybe with a dash of green. Lance couldn’t paint for his life, but he used to go to art museums for field trips and step as close to the impressionism as possible to see all the little colors dabbled in there. Like when they added just a smidgen of red to a sea of blue that felt wrong but looked so perfect. The world was perfect. In that moment, everything seemed so perfect. He could tell the moment was fleeting, but for a moment, nothing really mattered that much. 

 

Lance looked over to Keith, watching the way hair shielded eyes that were poised and stagnant. His skin had the same blue tint as the sky, highlighted by the crescent of the moon that also made him seem like he was dipped in silver. Lance couldn’t paint for his life, and he wanted to paint Keith. 

 

If only he could get closer and properly see the luminescence outlining his jaw and commit it to memory for a fictitious painting, then he would be satisfied. 

 

Lance furrowed his brow at this atypical silence coming from Keith. Lance had predicted he would be Talkative Keith tonight, the one that bursted nerves and cut sentences short. Yet he hadn’t said a word. “You okay?” 

 

As Lance peered closer, the moment of perfection seemed to slip between his fingertips like wet glue. There was no use grabbing onto it, because he knew it was fruitless. He felt it slip out and thin into air like his own smile, fearing the lack of reciprocation from Keith. He was hollow, and it was suffocating Lance. Keith didn’t even seem to be breathing. He didn’t move to look at Lance. Lance felt as though he was looking at a dog and seeing it lie dormant, missing the rise and fall of its breath, thinking it was dead. Then, of course, the dog would move and he would let out a breath of relief, shaking your head at himself. Only Keith was entirely unmoving and Lance was attempting to fight off the growing constriction of his chest. 

 

“Don’t want to talk tonight?” Lance asked, humor edging into his tone. “Okay.” 

 

Keith still didn’t move. Something was off. Lance could feel it. The atmosphere surrounding their bodies was thick and heavy in the air. It was just one of those things you could sense. But he was always afraid to come on too strong and push people too far, so he said nothing. He sat and waited, crossing his legs and folding his palms in his lap. Keith was definitely just nervous, just like Lance. Tomorrow was a big day, and he just showed his anxiety differently. Where Lance had to overcompensate and pretend like everything was fine, Keith shoved it down and quieted himself. 

 

It reminded him of their first meetings where Lance had to yank words out of Keith like pulled taffy and stretch them to use to his advantage and figure out who he was. Sometimes Keith just needed time to think. Lance could handle that. 

 

But then something began brewing in his stomach, bubbling up through his throat and pooling into his brain and he realized he couldn’t. He couldn’t handle this. This was the night he needed Keith the most, he needed his honesty and his quick wit and his sense of understanding because no one else knew what it was like. No one else in the entire world knew this feeling and no one else could make Lance feel better right now. So yeah, Lance was going to be a little selfish and have to put his needs first. Statue Keith could deal. 

 

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Lance huffed, placing his head in his hands. “I gotta talk. I gotta rant or something. I’m so nervous ab--” 

 

“This is the last time I can see you.” 

 

Lance came to a full stop. There was a lull in his heart as he looked up at Keith, who had finally moved an inch, looking down at the ground. 

 

“What?” 

 

Keith spoke again as if Lance merely hadn’t heard him the first time. “This is the last time I can see you.” 

 

An effervescent laugh choked out of Lance. “You’re joking, right?” 

 

More than life itself, he wanted Keith to say yes. “No.” 

 

His eyes were still fixated on the ground, pressed in between his feet and obscured by shadows. He looked so serious. It was terrifying. Lance’s questions felt like marbles in his mouth and he tried to stutter a few out at once before fixing his gaze back on Keith. 

 

“Why?” 

 

Keith’s shoulders twitched. His beanie was hanging too low on his head and there was a limpness in his legs that the rest of his body contradicted. A short breath was drawn from his lips and flitted into the air in a puff of vapor. “Because I can’t.” 

 

Heat grew in Lance’s face. “Wow, that’s an extremely specific explanation, thank you.” 

 

“Quit it, Lance.” His voice was like icicles against Lance’s ears. 

 

“Why are you being like this?” Lance said softer. “Did I do something?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“So like, that’s it? I can never talk to you again?” 

 

Keith fell back into silence. Lance felt like he was talking to a wall. He felt so entirely helpless. What was going  _ on _ ? “Are you scared of something happening? Is that it?” 

 

Keith intertwined his fingers together and brought his knuckles to his mouth. 

 

“Things don’t have to change. We’re friends. So what?” Lance said. 

 

“You don’t understand.” 

 

“Obviously! But I’m trying to,” Lance pleaded, body now fully facing Keith as he spoke into his profile. “Help me understand.” 

 

“It’s just not going to work out.” 

 

“What is?!” Lance threw his hands up, feeling like a hopeless idiot. “Stop being so vague and talk to me!” 

 

There was a brief pause and then Keith’s eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes resting on the tops of his cheeks. “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

 

The words came out of Keith’s mouth like gravel, forced and rough and burning at the edges. Lance’s eyes widened at the boy sitting next to him, one he convinced himself that he knew and understood, one he convinced himself he had helped if even a little bit, one he liked being around and confiding in even despite their polarized personalities. He tried to tell himself that Keith was just getting worked up and taking it out on him, and he didn’t mean this. But Lance never listened to himself and never knew how to take a step back. 

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The hurt was evident in the curl of Lance’s voice. He hated feeling so weak. 

 

Another sigh spiraling into the wind. “We just can’t be friends anymore.” 

 

“Why the hell not?!” 

 

Keith still wouldn’t even look at him. Like Lance didn’t even deserve his attention. It made him feel sick. The sky was crashing into the mountains. 

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He said quietly. Lance felt his heart sink. 

 

“You’re not going to hurt me, Keith.” Was this really the reason? “Why would you say that?” 

 

“We’re rivals.” 

 

“No, we’re not.” 

 

“We’re competitors.” 

 

“Yes, but--” Lance was out of breath exasperation. How could Keith be so calm? How could he say this all so evenly? “It doesn’t matter!” 

 

“It does.” 

 

“No, Keith. It doesn’t.” Lance drew in a breath, and placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. It felt like stone. “I don’t care about that. I--” 

 

Keith nudged him off. “Stop.” 

 

“No! I’m not gonna stop. I want to help you.” Lance solicited, moving in closer. “ Let me help you, Keith.” 

 

“I don’t want you to help me!” Keith shouted, silencing Lance. “Is that all I am to you? Someone you need to help? Someone you need to  _ save _ ? You can’t save everyone, Lance! And you certainly can’t save me.” 

 

“Keith! That’s not--” 

 

But he wasn’t finished. “You have this stupid, twisted, idea that you need to rescue me because I’m... _ fucked up! _ I’m this lost soul with no friends and no emotions and you need to give me that, right?  _ Right _ ?” 

 

Now Lance was silent. 

 

“You can’t fix me. You act like you have me figured out, but you don’t. You don’t even  _ know _ me.” 

 

“I do.” Lance said, voice choking with unwanted tears. “I do.” 

 

“No, Lance. The truth, is you don’t even know yourself. You’re just as fucked up as me.” 

 

Irritation pulsed through Lance’s veins and petulance clenched in his fists. It filled him up and spat him out and left him with an agape jaw and a loss for a well constructed insult. He deflated. 

 

Lance hated him. Keith was right and Lance hated him for it. He hated him and he stood up, burning holes in his gloves and wiping angry tears off bleary eyes. “Fuck you.” he spat out, and left Keith sitting there.


	14. Parturiunt Montes, Nascetur Ridiculus Mus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fricken finally. the first race. tw/ anxiety mention

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the 2018 PyeongChang Olympic competition for Men’s Giant Slalom!”_

 

Lance’s back was pressed up against a tented wall at the top of the mountain, eyes closed, and chin drawn up towards the ceiling. If you looked close enough, you would be able to see the slight shake of his fingertips, the jiggle of his knee, the hair sticking up on the back of his neck. It was controlled, and it was restrained against himself, but it was still there.

 

Lance grew up with the notion that he would always be anxious about the things that excited him. He was used to nerves and anticipation going hand in hand, and as much as he skied, there would always still be a part of him that was afraid. Every qualifier, every big race, heck, every run he did in the big leagues--there was some sort of consequence of feeling like his stomach would explode.

 

“If it wasn’t important to you, you wouldn’t be nervous.” His father would tell him.

 

Well, that was partly true for Lance. When Lance was diagnosed with anxiety, it became apparent that it wasn’t quite a two way street. It was more along the lines of, “You’re nervous because it’s important to you,” not the other way around. Everything Made Lance nervous. But he had learned to control it.

 

Though sometimes, under special circumstances, he could feel it bubbling over in his chest, brimming on terrifying, eager to burst out and lead Lance to near insanity. This was one of those times.

 

“It’s just because it’s important,” he told himself, hoping that if he were able to accept it it would go away. But there was a caveat with acceptance. Lance feared that letting go would allow his anxiety to defeat him without the restraint of holding himself back.

 

He stretched his arms above his head and yawned without purchase. It wasn’t like he was tired--Hunk made him chug 2 five hour energies after seeing his bleary eyes from the morning--it was because Lance felt sleepy and achy when he was nervous for something. Like a balloon inflated throughout his chest and throat.

 

It wasn’t helping that there was the weighted thoughts of last night hanging over his head, a big mass of energy and tension that Lance didn’t even want to think about. But it was still there, adding to the coil of steel wool in his stomach and weighting him as stood up to head out of the tent.

 

“Hey, there you are.” Hunk said when he got outside. He was standing there with Pidge, flipping through a clipboard with lineup and condition reports. Lance hiked up his coat around his mouth, still feeling like there was a layer of frost in between his skin at the jacket.

 

“How’re you feeling?” Pidge asked.

 

Lance nodded inconspicuously. “Fine.”

 

“Couldn’t sleep much last night?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

 

Lance looked at her and then to Hunk who seemed oblivious. Hopefully she hadn’t told him about their run in a few nights ago. “No,”

 

“It’s understandable.” Hunk said sympathetically. “You feel ready though, right?”  

 

It was instinct to say yes, because Lance had been training for this moment his entire life, and he felt ready the first time he ever watched the winter olympics on television. But the question hit him harder than it usually did, filling him with a sense of doubt and emptying his mind like a bucket. Suddenly it felt as though he had forgotten literally everything he knew about skiing. The emptiness quickly turned into regret, and Lance’s mind starting flipping through all his days of training, and everything he could have done better. There were so many days he wasted. There were so many runs where he didn’t try his hardest. It was as if he didn’t care before, but when it actually came down to it he had no idea what he was doing.

 

“Lance?” Hunk asked nervously, watching his face fall and eyes fix on a patch of snow impaled by a tent pole. “Are you okay?”

 

Lance thought of ten answers, but none of them quite reached his mouth.

 

“Lance?” Pidge echoed. “Hellooo? Earth to Lance?” She waved a hand in front of his face.

 

Lance drew his eyes back to her but didn’t actually snap back into attention. He smiled on instinct, suddenly filled to the brim with the desire to get as far away as he could from people again. He did not want to asked if he was okay. He did not want to be bugged about his disposition. He knew that the only way he could calm down before the race was if he could focus and be alone. He just had to get them off his ass first.

 

“Lance! Lance McClain!”

 

All hopes of peace and quiet flew out the metaphorical window when Lance turned around to find the NBC reporter from before running to catch him.

 

“Can I get an interview?”

What was Lance supposed to say? No?

 

Potentially he could. But he also told himself and his mother that he would never be one of those guys. One of those guys who told reporters to fuck off and acted like they were better than them. He wouldn’t be no Justin Bieber. He would never let himself live it down.

 

“Sure.”

 

Allura beckoned her cameraman and tucked some of her white locks into her parka hood. Then she gave them a thumbs up.

 

“Lance McClain is the best men’s giant slalomer from America and possibly in the world. That will be partially determined today with the first round of races. How are you feeling, Lance?”

 

She shoved the microphone in Lance’s direction and he put his hands on his hips, staring down at the snow. “I’m alright.”

 

“Are you nervous for this big race?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s very candid of you. What are you nervous about?”

 

He didn’t look up, trying to maintain an approachable but suave persona. “Uh, I’ve put a lot of training into this moment, and there’s a lot riding on a few races.”

 

“How have you and your coach been working to account for the variable weather here?”

 

“Well, it’s been very windy while we’ve been here in Korea, so we’ve adapted for that. And now there’s almost no wind, so it’s going to be a very interesting race today.”

 

She nodded and then squinted her eyes at Lance for a second. Suddenly he felt like he was under intense scrutiny. He felt himself shrivel back a little. “Are you worried about your biggest threat, Keith Kogane today?”

 

Lance clenched his teeth, brain sorting through a plethora of possible answers at rapid speeds. Some he really wanted to say just to get off his chest. Some he wanted to say in hope Keith would hear it. Most would make him look horrible. Some would make him look crazy. A lot of them would sound fake.

 

“Yes.” He said plainly. “Excuse me.” And then he walked away.

 

There was a little voice in the back of Lance’s head that overpowered all the other voices in that moment, but also frightened Lance quite a bit. It was quite an annoying thought to have, not only because it was stupid, but because it was part of the reason why Keith didn’t want to be friends anymore apparently.

 

When Allura asked if he was worried about Keith, Lance’s brain immediately went to being _worried_ about Keith. Because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, the look on Keith’s face the night before was terrifying. It was pure loneliness, dappled with regret and peppered with his own fear. There was something under the surface, and Lance spent the rest of the night trying to figure out what it was.

 

And of course he could sit there and be pissed at Keith. And he was, don’t get him wrong. Pissed, that is.

 

But more of him just wanted Keith to be happy, and he was worried about that look on his face and what it meant.

 

 _You can’t fix him._ Lance had to remind himself. _You can’t fix everybody._

 

Not everyone wanted Lance’s help. Not everyone wanted Lance to be worried for them. Most people wanted Lance to leave them alone, but never said it to his face. At least Keith cared enough to do it.

 

So if he was aware of all that, why couldn’t he stop being worried? It was so stupid. Why did he care so much? He hadn’t even known Keith for that long. So why did this feel bigger than it was? Lance came on too strong, and Keith wanted him to back off. It was that simple. So why did it hurt so bad?

 

 _“Up first we have_ _Victor Muffat-Jeandet_ _of France.”_

 

“I’m telling you, that is the most French name I’ve ever heard. There has never been a name more French. I don’t--oh, hey Lance.”

 

Lance had found himself sitting on a bench outside of one of the tents, facing away from the slopes, hands folded together and eyes drawn shut. He looked up to find Pidge and Hunk staring at him.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Lance?” Hunk said, sitting next to Lance.

 

“Yeah. Did something happen?” Pidge plopped down on the other side.

 

“I’m fine. I swear.” Lance said without hesitation.

 

“You don’t seem fine, Lance.” Pidge declared.

 

“He’s probably just anxious.” Hunk combatted.

 

“No, there’s definitely something going on.”

 

“Lance, you can talk to us. Why are you bottling this up?”

 

“Yeah, that’s not like you. What’s on your mind?”

 

“Tell us.”

 

“Stop!” Lance shouted abruptly, standing up from the bench. They both flew up right after him. “I told you I’m fine, so can you please leave me the fuck alone?”

 

Lance felt like a toddler storming away, and really wanted to turn around and stick his tongue out at them when he heard Pidge whisper _“Sheesh”_ and Hunk respond with _“I told you not to push it!”_

 

He knew he would get a lecture from Hunk later about how the pent up angst would only screw up his performance, but right now he just wanted to be alone. The last thing he could focus on was the actual race, and that’s what was screwing with him at the moment. No matter what he did, he couldn’t think about it. His mind was entirely elsewhere. Sure, his subconscious was still making him anxious about it physically, but he barely even blinked an eye as he watched Muffat-Jeandet descend the mountain.

 

He stood under the monitor, forcing himself to watch the technique and think about what Hunk would say and what he could learn from it. But his mind came up short, so he decided to go back inside a tent and lay down before he was up. He still had a good amount of time. Maybe he could get some sleep.

 

After what felt like a few minutes but was probably more like 30, Hunk stuck his head into the tent Lance had laid down in.

 

“Hey buddy.” He said gently. “Let’s get you geared up. You’re almost on.”

 

A pulse of anxiety rushed through him but it was gone soon enough, and Lance threw himself off the cot and followed Hunk outside.

 

In a surprising turn of events, Hunk said nothing to Lance. It was entirely silent as they walked out and into the docking station. Not a word about his speed, not a word about the angle of his skis. Not even a word about the other skiers and how they were doing. He was probably trying not to push it. Lance ended up just feeling awkward as he slid his helmet cap on and clicked his boots into his skis. When he was fully ready, he stepped up to the top of the hill, looking down and feeling a little lump form in his throat. He really felt unprepared. He really wanted to turn around and tell the slope managers he was good, he didn’t need to do this.

 

For the first time that day, as he looked down at the long length of blue and red flags, he was thinking about slalom, and he was petrified. He was sure for a second time that he forgot how to ski.

 

Hunk forced Lance to face him and pulled him into one of his famous hugs, squeezing him a little tighter than usual. Normally he might complain about the force of the hug, but in that moment it actually calmed him down. Hunk ran a hand up and down his back and Lance let himself be vulnerable, basking in a split second of security. It was gone by the time he pulled away.

 

“You’re going to be fine, okay?”

 

Lance nodded and then they were telling Hunk to move back and Lance looked down at his feet. He wondered what would happen if he just took off his skis. He wondered what they would do if he went down the mountain in regular shoes. Or a lunch tray.

 

He hoped Keith was okay.

 

He wondered what he was thinking about at that moment, wherever he was. Probably not Lance. He hoped he was thinking about Lance.

 

Some part of his brain heard the buzzer sound that told him to launch, but by the time he actually got out of the zone, he realized he had stalled at least two seconds.

 

In the moment he was conscious of flying down the mountain, but muscle memory took over and he knew that he wouldn’t remember how he got from Point A at the top to Point B at the bottom surrounded by the crowd. They were cheering, but Lance felt like he was under water. He turned back and looked at the mountain he had just gone down and thought about how time was strange and the mountain looked awfully still.

 

Lance looked up at the board. 1:11:51. There were voices surrounding him, but none of them were coherent. He blinked at the board for a few seconds, reached down, unclipped his skis with his poles, and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is taking so long for me to update....I don't really have any excuse besides lack of motivation. i have the rest of this story planned out, i just have to get there. be patient with my depressed ass. hope u enjoyed. sorry it was short.


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